For Who Could Ever Learn To Love A Beast
by magentacr
Summary: A Sherlolly AU. The classic tale of Beauty and the Beast, with a Sherlock twist, of course.
1. A Rose For The Dead

_Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, I am just borrowing them from ACD and the wonderful people at the BBC. No copyright infringement intended, as this is a work purely for enjoyment not profit._

 _Author note at bottom._

 **Chapter 1 - A Rose For The Dead**

 _18th June 1876 - Finchley - A small town on the outskirts of London._

Early morning sunlight streamed through the open window, casting a warm glow over the room and bringing with it birdsong and the fresh scent of roses. Most would call it a perfect morning, but to Molly Hooper this day could never be perfect. Five years in and the anniversary of her Father's death never got any easier, everywhere she looked she was reminded of him, and her even longer dead Mother, making her feel lost and alone all over again.

Not the kind of woman to allow herself more than a moment of self pity, Molly climbed out of bed and got dressed, in her simple but serviceable skirt, bodice and pinafore, with a light shawl around her shoulders, grabbed her satchel and set out for the day. The cottage that her father had left to her was small, but the garden was beautiful, filled with seasonal fruit and vegetables, there was always something ripe or in bloom. Molly plucked a couple of juicy looking apricots from the tree, putting one in her bag and taking a bite out of the other, a perfect on-the-go breakfast for the busy day ahead of her.

Her first stop, as always, was the local police station, or rather the senior officer quarters above it. Since the scandal of his wife leaving him last year for another man, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had been at a loss, throwing himself into his work and taking poor care of himself outside of it. He had been so good to her when her father died, she felt it was the least she could do to pop in and make sure he didn't starve himself. Humming a little tune to herself, and as an audible sign to her friend that it was only her, she went into his bedroom only to yank open the curtains, leaving again so he could get himself up and decent while she pottered around the kitchen, stoking the fire, putting the kettle on to boil and fetching some bread and butter from the larder. She was just pouring the tea when the DI staggered sleepily out of his room, sitting himself at the table.

"d' I ever tell you, you're a goodsend, Molly?"

"Only every day." Molly smiled at their usual morning banter, putting his toast and the second apricot down in front of him. "Any laundry for me to take today?"

To her surprise, he shook his head. "Thanks, but Sally'll take care of that."

"Sally?"

"Oh, right, I forgot you haven't met her yet. She's Anderson's new mistress," he explained, "A good girl, she's been helping out around the place. And a smart one too."

"If she's so smart, what is she doing with Anderson?" Molly quipped with a wry smile, making the detective snort a laugh, almost choking on his toast as he did so.

"You may have a point there." He agreed with a warm smile, his eyes lingering on hers for a second in the kind of way that made her blush and turn away quickly to busy herself tidying up. There wasn't really much to do, since he rarely spent enough time in the flat to make a mess.

"Well then. I'd better be off, I'll be back later to get your dinner."

"Don't worry, I'll have Sally fix me something up. Not that I don't enjoy your company!..." He swiftly backtracked, seeing her lips part in hurt rejection, "I just thought you might want the night off, you know, because... Well, I know today is hard for you..."

"Actually I prefer to keep myself busy, if it's all the same to you." She cut off his ramblings, hating how small she sounded saying it.

"Yeah, I get that." Gregory nodded, sounding every bit as weary as she felt, before forcing a cheery "tonight, then."

Next stop was the doctors office. Usually she would do straight around the back to the mortuary, where she earned a small wage assisting Doctor Stamford, but today she had to see the doctor to the living, Doctor Watson. She waited patiently in the waiting room, which was thankfully still quite empty, until the good doctor escorted a patient out, and spotted her.

"Molly, what brings you up to my office? You look well enough, or did Mike send you up for something?"

"Neither, I finished the book you lent me, and just wanted to return it." Molly explained, pulling the copy of Gray's Anatomy out of her bag carefully and handing it over.

"Already? Gracious, you really are a voracious reader. How did you find it?" He enquired pleasantly, tucking the book under one arm.

"Very insightful, Doctor Gray has a way with explaining things, I'm sure what I've learned will be very useful when I'm assisting Doctor Stamford with his-" She hastily cut herself off before she could say 'autopsies', remembering a little too late that it fell a little out of the purview of a nurses job, and she wasn't exactly one of those either. As a glorified cleaner it wouldn't do to tell the Doctor whom the clinic belonged to that she'd been doing more than she should.

Doctor Watson's kind smile didn't dim in the slightest however, and he quickly jumped in to save her floundering for excuses.

"Always been a good judge of character, Mike, glad to hear he's not letting a mind like yours go to waste. Oh don't look so shocked, I'm well aware how remarkably capable the fairer sex can be, Mary certainly wouldn't allow me to forget it."

Molly's mouth hung open a few seconds longer, before she managed to recover from her shock and remember her manners.

"And how is Mary? And your little one... Charlotte isn't it?"

"Both well, thank you. Anyway, I mustn't keep you, I'm sure Mike will be wondering where you are by now." He reminded her, nodding to the clock.

"Oh! Yes, sorry, thank you!" She squeaked, hastily waving as she dashed out the office and down to the mortuary.

"Molly! Thank goodness you're here, I wasn't sure you'd be in today, since it's... Well, you know." Doctor Stamford rushed over as she got in, looking a little flustered, but not even slightly angry at her for her lateness. She wasn't even sure he _could_ get angry, she couldn't recall ever seeing him anything other than jolly, even in face of the tragedies it was his job to document, it was like water off a duck's back.

"Well, I'm here. What did you need me to do today?" She asked, hopeful after her conversation with Doctor Watson that Doctor Stamford would have something interesting for her to do.

"Actually I have something a bit out of the usual to ask of you today. I have an urgent letter I need delivered to my parents out in Enfield, and the postman won't be able to take it any earlier than tomorrow. Could you run it over for me?"

"Yes, of course." Molly agreed, swallowing her disappointment. The intrigue of learning more would still be there tomorrow, and it wasn't a bad day for a ride out of town.

"Excellent, thank you." Stamford beamed, handing the sealed envelope over. "I expect it'll take the better part of the day, so don't worry about checking in when you're back, I'll just see you tomorrow."

Molly nodded in assent, tucking the letter into her bag and setting back out for home, where she would pick up her trusty horse, Toby, for the journey. She was halfway across the town square when a pair of hands descended over her eyes from behind.

"Guess who?" A playful voice with a distinctive Irish lilt sang in her ear.

"I know it's you, Jimmy Gaston!" Molly giggled, pulling out of the loose embrace and turning to face her suitor. Jimmy was the village handyman, making a living doing odd jobs for people. He had come to her rescue when her roof sprung a leak a few months ago, and they had been courting since. She giggled even more as he raised her hand to his mouth for a kiss.

"You nearly ran right by me, was last night's date so bad?" He teased.

"Did I? Sorry, I just have this thing to do for Doctor Stamford, and I wasn't watching where I was going..." She trailed off, seeing in his smiling face that her excuses weren't necessary. "And I did have a very good time last night." She finished instead, blushing slightly at the memory. Jimmy was a very forward man, he tempted and teased her and she wasn't entirely sure she minded, though she knew her principles would always win out at the end of the night.

"Goood." He drew the word out, "Then will you see me again tonight?"

"Maybe. If I get back in good time..." Molly bit her lip trying to work out time in her schedule. She liked to keep busy on this day, but knew she would also want time to visit her parents' graves, and her day was swiftly filling up.

"Where are you going?" Jimmy's voice broke into her musings.

"Hmm? Oh, Enfield."

"Perhaps tomorrow then. Be careful on the road, you know what they say about the Beast of the Manor up the way, snatching up travellers." He grabbed her in a playful hold, making her giggle again.

"I'll be fine, I'll have Toby with me, the beast would have to be pretty fast to catch us."

"I'll still worry about you." Jimmy cooed, making a show of reticence in letting her go.

"You are sweet. See you tomorrow."

"Until then, my love."

The ride out to Enfield passed swiftly, as Molly rode at an easy going canter, soaking up the warmth of the sun that she so didn't get much chance to enjoy down in the coolness of the mortuary. And Toby was a very good listener, as she chatted away to him about what Doctor Watson had said, and how she was thinking of going to London to train to be a nurse.

Mr and Mrs Stamford greeted her warmly, inviting her in for tea and a light lunch, while grilling her for information about their son's wellbeing, and about herself, the light of matchmaking clear in his Mother's eyes, much to Molly's amusement, as she knew it would mortify her boss were he here. By the time they had finished though, and written out a reply to their son for her to take back with her, it was later than Molly would have liked to be setting out home, and she knew she would have to take the journey at a much swifter pace if she wanted to get back before it got too dark to see the road. To make matters worse, the weather had turned, dark storm clouds rolling in and blocking the sun's warm rays.

She was nearly back, about a mile from Finchley, when the clouds shifted, a single shaft of sunlight breaking through the dark clouds, illuminating a rose bush filled with perfect Crimson blooms, making the ones in her own garden pale in comparison. The sight halted Molly, staring at the roses in a rush of emotion. Every year after her mothers death her father had taken one red rose to her grave, and Molly had carried on the tradition, taking them both a rose each on this day. She had been planning on picking them from her own garden when she got back, but that plan evaporated when she saw the illuminated bush, and she knew no other roses would do.

There was just two problems. Most immediately, the high wrought iron fence that lay between her and the roses, and secondly, but no less prominently, the dark sprawling manor beyond. Home to the Beast that Jimmy had warned her about, the one everyone in the villages surrounding had heard tales of, and feared. Some of them Molly thought best to take with a pinch of salt, the tales of a creature half human half animal, but she'd still rather not run into the man that stirred such dread.

But those roses, though. She couldn't see anyone about, if she was quick she wouldn't need fear running into the Beast at all, she'd be on her way in no time. Without further delay, she urged Toby closer to the fence, climbing up unsteadily to her feet on his back to give herself a boost over the fence. She thought she had made a clean job of it too, until she heard the rip of fabric as she dropped down the other side, turning to see a sizeable tear up the side of her skirt. No time to worry about that now, she decided, at least it would make the climb back over easier. The clouds had shifted again, blocking out the sun once again, but it was still just light enough to find the roses in the gloom, and they were just as beautiful. Being careful of thorns, she selected two of the best roses and plucked them, stem and all, from the bush.

No sooner had she done so, then the clouds burst, emptying the heavens on her with pelting rain. After securing the precious roses in her satchel she made a break for the fence, jumping for a handhold to pull herself out and finding it too slick from the rain. She couldn't take the risk of dodging the spikes at the top again like this, if she slipped she'd do far worse than ruin her skirt.

"Okay, don't panic." Molly told herself, drawing her shawl up over her head to protect herself better from the rain. There had to be a gate around here somewhere. "Come on Toby, with me." She called, thankful he was so well trained as he followed her along the other side of the fence. By the time they reached the gate, she was soaked through and shivering. With shaking hands she reached for the latch, but found it wouldn't budge, locked fast.

"No. No, come on." She whined, scared and angry with herself for getting into this predicament. "Okay, think, there's got to be another way-"

Her words were cut off with a gasp as the sky lit up with a roll of thunder. Not used to being out in a storm Toby whinnied, rearing up on his hind legs before dashing away into the steadily growing darkness.

"Toby, no! Don't leave me. Please..." Molly cried, reaching out through the fence hopelessly, starting to lose control of the panic clawing up her chest. She was alone, trapped, soaked and cold. Even if she could get out now, how could she find Toby and find her way back to town in the dark? But with the storm raging and the temperature dropping for the night she knew she couldn't stay out here or she'd freeze to death, or at least give herself a severe case of hypothermia. That left her only one option, and it terrified her. She would have to throw herself on the mercy of the Beast.

Wiping back rainwater mixed with tears from her eyes, Molly started making her way up to the house, telling herself that it would all be okay, that the stories were probably just that; tales to scare the gullible. The house loomed over her, imposing and dark, though there were lights in some windows that she hadn't noticed before, and the idea of a warm fire drew her in. The front doors were massive carved oak affairs, with a lion head knocker that was slightly askew. Molly knocked and felt the door give slightly under her blows, clearly unlocked. Was it an accident of a careless owner, or a sign of welcome to any chance guests, like herself? Well, there was only one way to find out; Molly pushed the door further open, just enough to slip through, and entered.

"Hello? Is anyone here? The door was unlocked so I... I hope you don't mind." Molly called out, her words echoing slightly in the vast entrance hall. Even in the dark she could make out the opulence in her surroundings; tapestries, ornate vases on side tables, a glittering chandelier overhead and parquet flooring beneath her feet, with a lush red carpet running up the grand staircase ahead of her. And here she was, leaving a small puddle from her dripping raggedy clothes, uncertain what to do next. Really, given the clear wealth of the occupant, she was surprised there wasn't a butler waiting to greet her, though she supposed he might be attending to duties elsewhere. It's not like she was expected. If the delicious smell drifting from what must be the kitchens was anything to go by, there had to at least be a cook. And where there was cooking there would be a fire, Molly thought. She should go through, and then the servants could alert their Master of her presence, while she warmed up and dried out by the fire, she decided, following her nose around the side of the stairs, where there were some doors. The first door she tried proved only to be a cleaning cupboard, but the second led to a corridor, clearly leading to the servants quarters, with light spilling out of a doorway halfway down.

"You shouldn't be here." A deep velvety voice growled behind her, causing her to turn sharply, then scream as her eyes fell on the speaker.

The man stood partway up the staircase, scowling down at her. At least she assumed it was a scowl, and that he was a man, as he certainly appeared as some kind of beast like the stories told. His hands - one gripping the stair rail, the other a lantern - curled like claws, appeared almost scaly, a hideous patchwork of discoloured skin and lesions. The visible skin of his face was much the same, what could be seen of it behind a scruffily trimmed and patchy beard and the long curled locks hanging limply to his shoulders. His stunningly beautiful eyes, a sharp contrast to the rest of him, seemed to bore through her where she stood.

Not needing to be told twice that coming in here had been a mistake, Molly turned and ran back for the door, but never quite reached it, slipping on the puddle she left earlier and crashing into one of the end tables. There was a sharp pain where her head met the corner, the smashing sound of a expensive vase hitting the floor, and then blackness.

 _AN: Hi guys, guess who's back! Hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this new story of mine, I've challenged myself a bit to step out of my comfort zone with this one, particularly doing a period piece, so please let me know what you think so far, and be merciful with any silly little errors, I've researched what I can but there's always something. Also I wasn't sure if this was technically a crossover or not, since I'm only using Sherlock characters, but let me know if you think I should have labelled it as such._

 _I'm aiming for updates twice weekly since I'm going for longer chapters this time, so don't forget to follow if you want to find out what happens next._


	2. Be Our Guest

**Chapter 2 - Be Our Guest**

 _19th June 1876 - The Beast's Manor_

The first thing Molly noticed upon her return to consciousness was a throbbing pain in her temple. After a few seconds of confusion, memories of what happened kicked in and she sat bolt upright, despite the stab of pain it caused her head, and started noticing a lot more about her current situation. For starters, she was in a bed - a massive four poster with the softest sheets she'd ever felt. Next, and possibly most alarmingly, she was not wearing what she arrived in. At some point she'd been stripped right down to her undergarments, and dressed instead in a simple white shift. Her own clothes were laying in front of the rooms fireplace, which was lit and burning low, presumably to dry them off. Though they would be long dry by now, since around the room's heavy curtains she could see the glow of daylight trying to filter into the room - apparently she had been out all night.

A wave of sadness overcame her at this realisation; she had missed her yearly visit to her parents' graves. The irony that it had happened because she was trying to get some better roses for them didn't escape her, and she huffed a bitter laugh. Then there was Gregory, if she hadn't taken him dinner, had he eaten? Perhaps he had thought she had taken the night off as he had suggested, and that Sally woman had made him dinner instead. He would certainly wonder if she didn't drop by this morning though, and on that note, if the clock on the mantle was correct she needed to make a move quickly or she'd be late to the mortuary again, and she had to give Dr Stamford the reply from his parents.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Molly scrambled out of the bed, taking off the shift she had been lent and folding it at the bottom of the bed before putting her own clothes back on. She was surprised to find that as well as drying her clothes, whoever had done it had also repaired the rip she tore in her skirt climbing over the fence. If she saw anyone on the way out she would have to pass on her thanks, though she wasn't sure she wanted to see anyone, especially not _him_.

She liked to think she wasn't a judgemental person, but he had unnerved her with his stare, and telling her she shouldn't be there. Okay she had been a bit presumptuous letting herself in, but the door had been unlocked, and she was trying to seek him out. He was just being rude and inhospitable- And she cut that thought off before it could continue, as apparently he had been very hospitable after she knocked herself unconscious. They had just got off on the wrong foot was all, and she resolved to be gracious and thankful to him if she saw him again, regardless of his appearance.

That in mind, she opened the door and slipped out into the dim corridor beyond. She was surprised to find all the curtains out here closed as well, she had thought the ones in her room had been left so as not to disturb her, but would have thought the house staff would have opened these ones. Perhaps her unexpected stay had disrupted things more than she thought, so she decided to do them a favour and open the curtains as she went past, which had the added benefit of giving her a view out the window to give her an idea of where in the house she was in relation to the door, or else she suspected she could get herself hopelessly lost. Thankfully they didn't appear to have taken her far, if she just followed this corridor and turned left she should come out at the top of that grand staircase and be on her way in no time.

She reached the front doors without seeing anyone, and was just thinking that she would send a letter in thanks, but, when she tried the door, she found it locked, with no key in sight. Looks like she would have to look for someone after all. Unless the keys were in one of these little tables, they had to be more than decoration right? Her eyes lingered guiltily on the recently cleaned one missing an expensive vase, and decided to try another, pulling out the little drawer and finding it disappointingly empty.

"Looking for these?" The same deep rumble of a voice from last night came from the direction of the top of the stairs, accompanied by the jingle of keys.

Molly turned slowly, trying to maintain a calm and polite facial expression, even though her heart hammered in anxiety. Don't stare, she reminded herself, though it was difficult as the daylight revealed more of him than last night's candlelight, and she was able to make out a lean figure, clothed in a well tailored suit, minus the tie and waistcoat. It was effortlessly stylish, and Molly reflected that he must have been quite a looker once, before whatever had happened to disfigure him so. Still, she couldn't quite look him in the face when she spoke to him.

"Ah, yes, thank you, for everything, it was very kind of you to let me stay after... What happened. I didn't want to be any more of a nuisance though so I was just going to let myself out and get off home. I... Um..." She faltered, seeing him very slowly and deliberately slip the keys back into his inner jacket pocket, without having opened the door.

"That door will be remaining locked as it should have been last night, as will all the other doors, and the windows." He told her, "You won't be going anywhere."

Molly's jaw dropped, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. He was keeping her here, as a prisoner?! Her hands started to shake as she tried to think what he could possibly want with her, and came up with nothing good. After seeing him with her own eyes she had started to disbelieve most of the rumours that spread about him in the towns, but now she worried there was some truth in them.

"W... Why? What do you want with me?" She stuttered fearfully.

She was sure she saw his eyes roll at her. "I don't _want_ you, I never did, but you're here now and I can't let you leave, so stay in the house and stay out of my way and we can avoid any... Unpleasantness."

His words simultaneously relieved and angered Molly. While it was nice to know he had no sinister plans for her, he hadn't really given her any good reason for detaining her. Emboldened by the knowledge that he wanted to avoid 'unpleasantness', she drew herself up a little taller.

"You can't keep me here. My family will be looking for me by now, and they will knock the door down if they have to to get me." She bluffed.

To her surprised he smiled. But it wasn't warm and friendly the way Gregory or Doctor Watson or Stamford smiled at her, it was cold and cruel.

"You don't have any family."

Molly felt her jaw gape again. How could he possibly know that after their short acquaintance? Had he been watching her before now? But he said he had never wanted her, so how could that be it? Unless he was lying? Either way, that wasn't the issue right now.

"Well, no... But I am a rather close friend to the Detective Inspector in town, and he will already be wondering where I am. You'll be in big trouble when he finds out you've abducted me."

"Funny company for a police officer to keep, a thief." His voice rumbled with humour.

So that was what this was about! He must have thought she was trying to rob him when he caught her poking about his house, and was trying to execute a citizens arrest. Molly fully relaxed for the first time since she'd arrived, thinking this was all a huge misunderstanding that could be sorted out.

"What? No... No, I'm not... I wasn't here to rob you last night, there was just a storm, and my horse bolted and I was lost and looking for shelter. That's all, I swear."

"Is it really?" He smirked again, picking something up off of a side table and holding it up to the light. Molly's breath caught at the sight of one of the roses from last night in his hand, and her own flew involuntarily to her satchel, like an admission of guilt.

"You're keeping me prisoner for stealing a rose?" She asked, once she found her voice.

"Of course not. I couldn't care less about the rose. Keep it." He let go of the bloom, and it fluttered down over the balcony to the hard floor below, as he turned and started to walk away, his upright bearing when standing diminished by a clear limp.

"Then why?!" She called after him, frustrated by their conversation and desperate. But no answer was given to her as he disappeared around the corner.

Molly could have screamed in frustration, or fear or anger or any one of the myriad of emotions bubbling up inside her. She had no idea what she was supposed to do now, but her feet carried her forwards of their own accord to where the flower lay. She scooped it up and stared at it. For a second she was tempted to hurl it away from her, or drop it and crush it under her shoe for the trouble it had caused her. She didn't though, destruction just wasn't in her nature. Instead she held it close to her chest as she ran back up the stairs and along the corridor to what she guessed was now her room, where she could cry for what was lost to her in peace.

It was hours later, 4:45pm in fact by the clock on her mantle, when Molly reemerged from her room. Her grief had suppressed her appetite over lunchtime, but was now back in force given that she hadn't eaten anything since that light meal at the Stamford's. She knew next to nothing about the house that was to be her prison, wasn't sure if dinner was served at a certain time or where that might be, but she wasn't about to ask _him_ for a guided tour, so endeavoured to find out herself. She started down at the hall again, noticing that all the curtains had been pulled shut again, though at least the candelabras were all lit, providing plenty of light to see her way. She had planned to head down to the servants' quarters where she had smelt cooking the previous night and beg something off the cook so she could avoid eating with the Master of the house, but as she rounded the corner to the stairs she saw the swish of a skirt disappearing around the opposite corner.

Deciding that a guide might be the best idea after all, Molly followed, turning to the corridor and seeing no sign of the woman, but an open door on the left. She went to follow, but quickly backtracked to just peer around the door when she saw that the room's main occupant was the last person she wanted to have another conversation with today. She could see his profile, sitting at a desk with an ornate microscope, peering at something. The person Molly had been following turned out to be an elderly lady, in a smart deep purple dress with a pinafore. With a teacup in one hand extended in front of her, and the other arm bent and resting on her hip she looked, in Molly's mind, a little like a tea-

"Mrs Potts" the man said as she put the cup down next to her.

"The thanks I get for bringing you your tea. You could just ask how my hip is rather than call me silly names." Molly was surprised to hear the servant rebuking her master, and decided instantly she liked the woman. She had a matronly air about her.

"I don't need to ask, I can see it's bothering you just fine." He responded arrogantly, pulling back from his microscope for a sip of his tea. "Go have one of your herbal soothers, and while you're at it, do something about her will you?" He turned his head sharply, eyes locking onto Molly's for the briefest second, before she managed to duck back around the doorframe, pressing herself back against the wall. She couldn't see them but could still hear his voice floating out the door, "I don't need her eyes boring into me when I'm trying to work."

"Have some pity on the poor girl, Sherlock. She must be so scared and confused right now, I feel terrible for leaving that door open for her to wander in."

"Pity is a useless emotion, as is regret, Mrs Hudson. No amount of remorse and wishful thinking can undo what's been done. She's here now, we just have to deal with it, as does she. If you want to do something for her, train her up to replace you as housekeeper. She'll need something to occupy her time, and you're not getting any younger." There was a chink of china as the man she now knew was called Sherlock presumably put his teacup back in its saucer.

"I suppose you're right." She heard Mrs Hudson say, then heard footsteps coming her way. The woman emerged from the room, empty cup in hand, and smiled at her kindly.

"Come along dear, let's give him some space and get you something to eat."

 _AN: Wow, thanks for the enormous amount of support I've had so far guys, all you who followed and favourited, it means a lot to me. Don't forget to let me know your thoughts in the reviews too ;)_


	3. Friends, Old and New

**Chapter 3 - Friends, Old and New**

 _19th June 1876 - The Beast's Manor_

"Sherlock never told me your name?" Mrs Hudson began, once Molly was perched at the table in the kitchen, while she flitted about, stoking the fire to reheat the kettle and pulling ingredients out of the pantry. It felt slightly surreal for Molly to watch, used to being the one doing all of that.

"He never asked it." She answered. Noticing how bitter she sounded and not wanting to alienate herself from a potential friend she started again, in a friendlier tone. "I'm Molly. Molly Hooper."

"Well nice to meet you Molly. My name's Martha Hudson, though most people just call me Mrs Hudson." The elderly lady told her. Molly had to admit Mrs Hudson seemed to fit her better anyway.

"Is Mr Hudson about? You and Sherlock are the only people I've met here so far."

"Well that's because it's just us, dear." Mrs Hudson explained, chopping up vegetables and throwing them into a pot over the stove. "And Mr Hudson died a long one ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I'm certainly not." Mrs Hudson smiled, "He got what was coming to him, Sherlock made sure of that."

Molly opened her mouth to ask what he did and what the man upstairs had to do with it, but decided against it. She couldn't reconcile anything good with the rude man who was holding her captive right now. They fell into a comfortable silence, Mrs Hudson cooking away while Molly looked about the room. The kitchen was bright and warm, well stocked with every sort of cooking implement and pots big enough to feed half the town. Even though no dust had been allowed to settle in the pristine room, it was still sadly clear to Molly that most of this equipment went unused; they were simply too clean. Only the pot currently in use had any blackening from being over a flame. How long had it been just the two of them shut up in this big house? And now it was just the three of them, and already the loneliness seemed unbearable to Molly. She cast about for a subject, just to break the silence.

"So I suppose I should probably move my things down here to the servants quarters if I'm going to be the new housekeeper." She said. Not that it would take much to bring her bag down. And that damned rose.

"If you want, but there's really no need." Mrs Hudson shrugged, "I only stay down here because of my hip, or else I'd take a nice comfy room with a view too. Not that I'm complaining about the nice bed Sherlock helped bring down for me when we got here, mind. But any free room in the house is yours if you want it, upstairs or downstairs."

Molly's brow crinkled in confusion. She'd heard all about the upstairs downstairs way things worked in big houses like this, she's had a friend at school who was from a richer family and talked about having servants. Nothing she'd seen here seemed to fit with that.

"Are you sure he won't mind?" She asked tentatively "It's a bit..."

"Unorthodox?" Mrs Hudson chuckled over the now bubbling stew. "That's Sherlock all over."

Molly tried to smile in return, but it was strained. She'd thought of Sherlock as the monster stories made him out to be when he told her she couldn't leave, but the way Mrs Hudson spoke about him seemed to be the complete opposite. She couldn't reconcile the two views of the man in her head. Some of her conflict must have shown on her face, because Mrs Hudson gave her an understanding look.

"He's a good man." She said "Goodness knows, he's arrogant, rude, ruthless and has a special knack for upsetting people... But underneath it all..." She trailed off with a fond smile.

"Then why won't he let me go?" Molly asked in a pained voice. If she knew he had good reason, she might be able to accept Mrs Hudson's view of the man.

"Hasn't he told you?" Mrs Hudson looked genuinely shocked by the news, "He does like to be mysterious and dramatic sometimes, I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready."

"Can't you tell me?" Molly begged.

"It's not my curse to tell, dear." Mrs Hudson said sadly, before dishing up a bowl of the stew and putting it down in front of Molly. "Now eat up, then I'll give you a tour of the place, help you feel at home."

 _Meanwhile - The Rose and Crown - Finchley_

Half the town seemed to be assembled in the Rose and Crown this evening, which was nothing new, being the only bar in town. What was unusual was Detective Inspector Lestrade walking in, as he rarely left the police house these days outside of a case. A hush descended over the crowd, until he raised his hand in the universal signal to barmen that he was here for a drink, and then slid away to a table at the back. No sooner had a waitress brought over his ale and taken his order for supper, then two familiar faces joined him, pulling up chairs and plunking their beers down on the rickety wooden table. Lestrade only really knew Dr Stamford from his occasional unfortunate visits to the morgue for a case, but John Watson went way back with both of them, and always was a friendly sort.

"Lestrade! Good to see you out of the house. What's the occasion?"

"The occasion is a man's gotta eat." Lestrade admitted, taking a sip of his beer before continuing, "I didn't think it possible but I think I managed to chase Molly away yesterday by suggesting I could get Sally to do some of the little jobs she usually does for me. I only meant for her to have the day off, but she hasn't come back since. And now Sally and Anderson seem to have had some kind of falling out and she hasn't been by either, a man could be left to starve if I didn't take matters into my own hands."

Lestrade didn't miss the significant look shared between Stamford and Watson.

"You haven't seen Molly since yesterday, you say?" Watson asked.

"No. Haven't you?" Lestrade's eyes went to Stamford in particular, knowing Molly did some work for him.

"No. I sent her out to Enfield with a message for my folks yesterday morning, and was expecting her back with a reply today, but she's not been in." He explained "Not that I'm complaining, I know she'll have done her job but... It shouldn't be taking her this long to get back, it's really not that far, you could make a round trip in a day at a leisurely pace."

There was a couple of seconds contemplative silence, as all three thought about the journey and calculated, but the conclusion was inevitable; she should be back by now.

"Perhaps she stopped there for the night? That was a quite a storm last night, perhaps she felt it coming and decided to get a room and come back in the morning?" Lestrade suggested.

"Well that's what we thought, but still she'd be back by now, and I'd have thought she'd have called in on you if she was." Watson pointed out.

It was true, Lestrade thought, Molly stuck to her word like glue, and if she hadn't been over to make food for him when she said she would because she'd been detained by the weather, the first thing the girl would do when she got the chance would be come over to apologise.

"Well, perhaps she decided to take a day off after all, seeing as what time of year it is. You know how hard she took Maurice's death." He suggested hopefully.

"That's true, but she never takes the day, even if I offer it." Stamford pointed out, "Come to think of it, I can't even remember her ever asking for a day off, let alone taking one."

On the next table, James Moriarty - better known to the people of Finchley as Jimmy Gaston - sat listening. He liked spending his evening in the Rose and Crown, not only was it a good place to meet contacts for his underground criminal network without attracting suspicion, it was also a good place to keep abreast of the news in the little town, and who knew when some information would come in handy?

He was surprised to hear the girl he had been wooing was the centre of today's gossip, and had apparently gone missing. It certainly explained why he hadn't heard from her today as she'd promised. Not that he particularly cared for her, she was just a girl pointed out to him by Irene as having enough Daddy issues to make her an easy target for conquest. He did so love corrupting a pure young thing, before tossing her away with a broken heart. So far she'd been far more challenging than he'd predicted, which was always a bonus, but it wouldn't break his heart if she truly had gone missing - plenty more needy young girls in the sea after all. But for the sake of maintaining his cover as a lovable handyman he supposed he should show at least at little concern.

"Excuse me gentlemen, did I hear right...?"

 _Holmes' Hall, otherwise known as the Beast's Manor_

After supper, Mrs Hudson gave Molly a tour of the house, or at least most of it. They avoided the second floor of the west wing since those were 'Sherlock's Rooms' and Mrs Hudson assured Molly that he would take care of them himself, being very particular about things. Molly didn't mind that in the slightest, as there was still to be a lot of house under her care. The house boasted 17 bedrooms, several parlours, 1 fairly recently added private bathroom with a claw footed bathtub and even a shower- the height of bathing technology-, a large dining room and a ballroom.

All the rooms had to be dusted regularly, the rooms used regularly needed fires lit and tended to, and the bath was to be filled with hot water from the stove twice a week for Sherlock, then drained before they could make one for themselves. The bedrooms were to be aired daily, with a high window that required a pole and hook to open, as the lower windows were locked as per Sherlock's promise.

"Why are all the curtains always shut?" Molly couldn't help but ask as Mrs Hudson pulled one back over a window after showing her how to open it.

"Oh that..." Mrs Hudson heaved a sad sigh, giving the curtain a brush down. "Let's just say you're not the only prisoner here dear, and he took it even worse than you have. He never said they have to stay shut as such, but the view does torment him so, and I like to make things comfortable for him."

Molly bit her tongue against asking why they all seemed to be prisoners again, knowing she would get the answer when they were ready to give it to her. Her feelings for her captor were certainly softening by the minute, but she knew she wouldn't be able to completely forgive him until she knew. She tried to put it out of her mind for now.

"So... I could open the ones in my room, if I wanted to?" She asked.

"Of course. Though in time you might find you don't."

The tour concluded, Molly retired to her room for the night, thinking that she'd never get to the point of wanting to shut the sun out of her life. Yet the next morning, as she got up and dressed, she pulled open the curtains to find herself looking down at a garden full of blooming roses, and swiftly yanked them shut again.

 _AN: Hi guys, thanks for the continual support for the fic, glad you are enjoying it. And thanks to Lovely whim, 12564, Annesha, rockcandybar and Cassidy Rose for your lovely words in reviews._

 _By the way, recommended listening for this story is 'The Beauty and The Beast' by Nightwish, an epic song and my inspiration for wanting to do a beauty and beast story, so check it out if you have the time._

 _See you lovely people next chapter, enjoy the season 4 trailer in the meantime, I know I am ;)_


	4. Send Your Least Irritating Officer

**Chapter 4 - Send Your Least Irritating Officer**

 _20th June 1876 - The Police Station - Finchley_

"Sir?"

Lestrade looked up from his desk into the face of Sergeant Dimmock, whom he had assigned to look into Molly's disappearance earlier that morning. Over his years as a Detective Inspector, he liked to think he'd picked up a little about reading his men's faces, and is one had bad news written all over it. Tamping down on a surge of dread, he affected a businesslike mask.

"Yes? You have news?" He prompted

"Of a sort. You'd better come see, sir." Dimmock said, nodding at the door, but waiting for his superior to stand before leading the way out. Once outside, Lestrade saw Toby being led by a Constable, covered in mud and his saddle askew, but seemingly unhurt. "This is her horse, isn't it, Sir?" Dimmock continued, "We found him just outside town, his reins caught up on a branch. Dunno how long he'd been there, he seemed fairly content to nibble the grass round him."

Lestrade's brow furrowed in concern. This wasn't good at all; Molly took as great a care with her horse as she did everything else in her life, she wouldn't leave him caught up in a tree like this. Clearly he'd bolted, but then Molly would have been looking for him, and if they could find him, so would she have, unless something was preventing her from doing so. The options that left weren't good.

"Any tracks we can follow, as to how he got there?" He asked.

"Only where he'd been stomping around under that tree, rain must have washed the rest away." Dimmock shrugged.

"The storm." Lestrade muttered. That certainly explained what had made the horse bolt. But that was now two nights ago, and Molly had been missing all that time. They needed to move fast if they wanted to have any chance of finding her. "Alright, I'm making this case top priority. Gather up as many men as you can Sergeant, I want a look at where you found him myself, and then we'll start searching from there, we'll cover every mile from here to Enfield if we have to, but I want her brought home safe."

Two days later found Lestrade sitting in his office nursing a headache, and scouring a map with sore eyes. Last night, his Constables had practically dragged him back from the search to get some sleep, and the scarce few hours he managed had done him little good. At some point someone had brought him food, but he'd barely taken a bite, thinking it should be Molly bringing it, and diving back into the search.

"The men have returned from Enfield, Sir." Sergeant Dimmock announced, making Lestrade jump. He really was in a state, if someone could walk in his door without him noticing like that.

"And?" He croaked.

"No one has seen her since she left the Stamford's residence on June 18th, sir." Dimmock told him with a sad head shake. "Honestly sir, I don't think there's any more we can do for this one. We've searched a 10 mile radius of either village and canvassed nearly every house. No one has seen or heard from her. She'll be long gone by now sir, all we can do is hope it's of her own choice and she'll come back to us when she's ready, or that someone in one of the other stations we contacted picks her up and lets us know."

"There's got to be something..." Lestrade muttered, "Hang about, what do you mean nearly every house?"

"Well... All but one, sir. It's that big scary mansion out that way, the one they say is home to some kind of beast. None of the lads will go near it, sir, but we're pretty sure the girl wouldn't have gone there either, so..."

"You're telling me, that the one place that could have presented a threat to a lost young woman, is the one place we _haven't_ looked?" Lestrade said, rising to his feet. Oh, he'd heard the stories about the place, and tended to avoid it himself if he could, but would never have let superstition interfere with his duty. It seemed if he wanted the job done properly he would have to do it himself after all, then he could give the men a good dressing down over it when he got back with proper authority.

"Well, when you put it like that, sir..."

It didn't take long for the Detective and his Sergeant to reach the Manor on their horses, coming to a halt in front of the gates, their first problem evident.

"Locked, sir, and those chains look like they've been there a while, it can't be opened often. Looks like our girl couldn't have come here after all." Dimmock announced, his relief at having an excuse to leave painfully evident.

"Not so fast, Dimmock." Lestrade said, not willing to give up so easily now he was here. He clambered down from his horse, tying the reins to a handy post before giving the gate a good rattle. There was no resulting barking, so no guard dogs roaming the perimeter as you sometimes found with these big houses. Next he looked up and down the fence line and spotted what he was looking for; a tree overhanging the fence, the lowest branch within easy climbing distance, even for someone small as Molly. He walked over to it, getting a good handhold.

"Really, sir? You think she climbed a tree to jump the fence into the garden of some man-beast, for no apparent reason?" Dimmock said sceptically.

"No, Sergeant." Lestrade pointedly reminded Dimmock to watch his tone with a superior officer "I think that after getting thrown from her bolting horse, in the middle of nowhere when it's dark and raining, she would climb a tree to jump the fence to reach the only visible shelter. Now get over here and give me a leg up, I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."

Resigning to the fact he wasn't getting out of this so easily, Dimmock did as asked, waiting until Lestrade dropped down the other side of the fence before following. The drop over the other side wasn't too long, and with a bit of teamwork they should be able to get up to it again to get out, but it probably wouldn't be feasible for someone on their own, Lestrade noted. If Molly had gone in, it was possible she couldn't get back out. Feeling more and more sure they'd find Molly here somewhere, he led the way up to the house and knocked.

Molly was dusting on the second floor when she first heard the knock, and didn't think much of it at first. She often heard crashes and bangs from Sherlock's rooms and after a reassuring shrug from Mrs Hudson, had learned to ignore them. It was only when the second knock came, followed by the indistinct call of a very familiar voice that she realised what was happening.

"Gregory! He came." She breathed, dropping her duster immediately and running out of the room and down the now familiar corridors. She'd made the best of her imprisonment here, but now the prospect of going home was in front of her, she felt almost giddy with happiness. She guiltily had to admit she'd barely thought about whether Lestrade was looking for her or not, had barely thought of him at all, lest it bring her to tears, but now he was here and it would all be fine.

All those positive thoughts swiftly evaporated however when she turned the last corner to the main staircase and found Sherlock standing at the top of them, blocking her path with his arms folded and an irritated expression.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked icily.

"I... I heard the door..." As if to punctuate her words there was another solid knock, followed by her friends voice.

"This is the police, if anyone is home, we need to talk to you!" He called in a loud clear voice that was sure to carry.

Molly glanced at the door, then back at Sherlock, but he hadn't moved.

"Please... He's my friend, and he must be worried about me. His name is Gregory-"

"Lestrade." Sherlock finished for her, "I know him."

"You do?" Molly asked in shock. She had never heard Lestrade say anything about knowing the man known as the Beast. "How?"

"That's irrelevant, as is the fact he's here. You think I was waiting for an escort to arrive to take you home? No. I told you I couldn't let you leave, and I do hate repeating myself, so run along back to your chores and forget your _friend_ outside." He sneered.

Tears burned Molly's eyes, but she shook her head, not willing to abandon her friend.

"Just let me talk to him, I... I'll tell him I'm going to stay here, and reassure him, and then he'll go and he won't come back looking for me again." She reasoned.

"Mmm, or I could not, and he'll go away on his own, decide this is a fruitless lead and not come back either. I like that option better." He said mockingly.

Molly's hands were shaking now too, with rage or fear she wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to back down either.

"How can you be so cruel?" She asked in a shaking voice, "What gives you the right to decide who I can and can't talk to, or make me stay here, anyway? I'm leaving now, and you can't stop me!" She dashed around him, surprised at him stepping out of the way to let her, but his voice called her up short at the bottom of the stairs.

"Actually, I think you'll find I can. Or have you forgotten that I still have the key, and you still have no way out?"

That may have been true before, Molly thought, but now she had something she didn't before. She had Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade the other side of that door, and if he just knew she was in here, she was sure he could make the beast of a man release her. She sucked in a big breath.

"I suggest you do not let that scream out." Sherlock said with calm authority, as he slowly descended the stairs towards her. "Because if you do, then you are right, Lestrade will move heaven and earth to get in here to get you, and if he does... Well I can't be held held responsible for anything terrible that may happen to him." He stopped an arms length from Molly, but those sharp blue eyes of his held hers in challenge.

The blood leeched from Molly's face as she took in the meaning of his words. "Is that... Are you threatening to hurt him if he tries to help me?" She clarified. It was hard to believe, looking at the man before her twisted by sickness, that he could pose any kind of physical threat to a trained policeman like Lestrade, but the confidence with which he said it left her with no doubt it was true.

"It's not a threat, it's a statement of fact." He assured her darkly.

Molly took a few shaking steps backwards, feeling behind her for the banister as she mounted the steps. Her eyes flicked once more with longing to the front door, before sliding back to Sherlock, who was still watching her.

"You're a monster!" She cried, before turning and running away up the steps and towards the sanctuary of her room. All the charitable thoughts towards the man that Mrs Hudson had built up in her had vanished, and she cursed herself for ever thinking them. She hated that she had got so comfortable here, that she hadn't been putting more effort into escaping. That would change, she swore to herself, peering out of a crack in her curtains, not enough for her to be seen from outside, but enough to see her friend walking away from the door.

"Well, sir, what now?" Dimmock asked as they left the doorstep.

"We might as well check the grounds while we're here, maybe if she couldn't get an answer at the house and couldn't get out of the garden she took refuge in a potting shed or something." Lestrade answered, looking desperately out at the grounds. He had felt so sure, his gut had been telling him this was it.

"Alright sir, thought I would have thought if she was, she'd have heard you shouting and come out by now."

"Maybe, maybe not. We can always hope." Lestrade replied, thinking forlornly that they had run out of other options, and hoping was about all they could do now.

 _AN: Thanks again to all my followers, I'm getting no an amazing response to this story, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Thanks also to Cassidy Rose, Lovely whim and Hikiaka for thier reviews on the last chapter :) See you all Sunday for more._


	5. Forgive Me, I Need More Than You Can

**Chapter 5 - Forgive Me, I Need More Than You Can Offer Me**

 _25th June 1867 - Holmes Manor_

Keeping the big house clean didn't take all that much of Molly's time or concentration, allowing her plenty of time to think about how to get away. She didn't think she could ask Mrs Hudson for help, or even dare mention her plans to her, as the older lady seemed unwaveringly loyal to Sherlock, so it would be up to her to get herself out of this alone.

Her first thought naturally was the keys Sherlock had shown her, and she devised a plan to sneak into his rooms to search. Initially she planned to try when he was sleeping, but the man seemed never to rest, or at least if he did it was for only a couple of hours a night, after she had tired of waiting up. Plan B then, was to do it when he was having a bath. She knew she wouldn't have very long, but it may be long enough.

Filling the tub was no easy task, boiling the water in big pots on the stove and then carefully carrying them through to the bathroom, which was thankfully downstairs, to fill the massive tub. She had no idea how Mrs Hudson had managed it before she had arrived, so she took pity on the older woman, offering to do most of the lifting.

"Alright dear, that should do it." Mrs Hudson said as together they poured the last of it in, "You go and put the kettle on and have a sit down, I'll just run up to tell him it's ready and then I'll join you."

"Oh no, Mrs Hudson, you should be the one resting, your hip must be hurting something dreadful. Why don't I go and get him, and then if you don't mind I'll skip the tea and just have a bit of a lie down in my room." Molly suggested, feeling slightly bad for misleading her kind old friend.

"If you're sure, dear, I know he gets under your skin, but I would appreciate it" Mrs Hudson agreed, putting a hand on Molly's arm and squeezing in thanks. Molly smiled and nodded, walking with Mrs Hudson out of the bathroom before going their separate ways, Mrs Hudson to her kitchen and Molly upstairs.

Molly's heart pounded in apprehension as she turned left at the top of the staircase towards Sherlock's room. All had been quiet from his rooms today, but she was sure he was awake, and most likely in his study/laboratory. Tentatively she knocked on the door, her hand resting on the handle but not opening it.

"What is it, girl?" Came the impatient response.

Molly opened the door gently, surprised to see him sitting on the floor with his back to her.

"Um... Mrs Hudson sent me to tell you your bath is ready."

"That time already?" He got to his feet, tossing something on the desk with a chink before ripping a tourniquet off of his arm that Molly hadn't noticed when she came in. "Very well, I'll be right along."

Molly's lips parted, begging to ask one of the questions now buzzing her head at the sight of the medical paraphernalia, but when he turned to look at her with an eyebrow raised in challenge she lost her nerve and darted back out of the room. She passed the stairs and turned the corner into the east wing where her room was, but went no further, leaning against the wall and waiting until she heard his footsteps disappearing down the stairs before making her way back to his rooms.

She paused outside the door to his laboratory, tempted to go in and take a better look at his equipment to try and figure out what he did in there all day, but told herself sternly it would be a waste of precious time; the keys were far more likely to be in his bedroom, and there was no point in satisfying her curiosities about the man when she was planning to be as far away from here as possible by nightfall. That in mind, she moved along to the next room, opening the door as quietly as possible and slipping inside.

They say you can learn a lot about a person from their private rooms, and this was a room with a lot to say. Compared to the rest of the house the decoration was minimal, no tapestries, vases or rugs, and a plain but serviceable bed frame. What was in the room was an organised chaos, scattered books, papers and clothes all over the place, but little orders appearing here and there, in the themes of the stacked books, the shirts hung inside the gaping open wardrobe ordered by colour, and a stack of papers were pinned to the mantle by some kind of hunting knife, beside which a human skull stared eerily at her.

The clothes she had just seen him in were laid out on the bed, and Molly started her search there, pulling out all the pockets, but finding them all empty. She moved on to the wardrobe and all the pockets in there, but still turned up nothing. Next the chest of drawers, blushing at having to rummage through a man's undergarments. Strangely the socks seemed to be in meticulous order, which she endeavoured to return them to after checking them all. She quite lost track of time doing so, so when she heard the creak and shuffle of footsteps in the corridor she was taken by surprise, with very little time to hide herself. She threw herself under the bed just before the door opened, watching fearfully as water glistening feet came towards her, with the slight limp she recognised as Sherlock's. They stopped a meter from the bed, and all was still and quiet for a few long moments.

"If you were going for surreptitious in your search of my bedroom, you didn't do a very good job, I can see everywhere you've been." He spoke out to the room at large, though clearly addressing her. "And incidentally, under the bed is not a very original hiding place, either. Now, I imagine you would prefer to make your escape before I remove my bathrobe?"

Feeling her cheek aflame, Molly scrambled out the other side of the bed, carefully averting her eyes even though he was, as promised, modestly covered by his robe.

"I... I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have. I... " she bit her lip, too late realising that her actions would have consequences. Ordinarily a member of staff caught stealing would be sacked without a reference, but that could hardly apply when she wasn't housekeeper out of choice. What would he do instead? Would he cane her, as she had been once in school after misbehaving? Or something worse? Mrs Hudson said he was unorthodox. She flinched as he started to move, but he only stepped aside, giving her a clearer path to the door.

"Yes yes, out you go, I would like to get dressed today."

Molly didn't need telling twice, hurrying out in relief at getting away scot-free. As her footsteps faded away down the corridor, Sherlock reached into the pocket of his bathrobe, pulling out the keys he knew she had been looking for. _The girl was proving to be trouble,_ he thought, then he smiled. _Oh how he had missed a bit of trouble._

Molly stayed far away from Sherlock and his rooms for the next few days, for fear he'd remember he hadn't punished her for sneaking around his room and decide to rectify the situation. She cleaned the far most rooms in the mansion, on the second floor of the east wing, dusting and polishing and sweeping until the rooms were spotless. It was up here that she discovered the window.

Even if the curtains were shut was no reason for the windows to be dirty, so cleaning them as she went, she immediately noticed the broken latch. Hardly daring to believe her luck she gave it a push, and after sticking a little, the window swung open. Fresh air had never tasted so good, as Molly took a lungful, leaning over the frame to properly feel the the breeze and the sun on her face. She laughed out loud, then put a hand over her mouth to stifle it, in case anyone heard. This was it though, forget the keys, all she needed was something to use as a rope and she could climb down from the window to freedom. She looked down the building trying to get an idea of her path in daylight, before she would sneak up at night to make her escape. It was rather a long way down, and looked over a paved courtyard rather than soft grass or bushes, but if she took it carefully she was sure she'd be okay. She estimated four or five bedsheets tied together should make a long enough rope to get her down, and she could easily get them from the linen closet. Perhaps another one in her bag would help her to get over the fence, and of course she'd want a lamp to help her find her way home. Taking one more breath of fresh air, Molly pulled the window to.

It was just gone one o'clock in the morning when Molly slipped into the room again, prepared to make her escape. She had left a note in her room for Mrs Hudson, made sure she had everything she arrived with in her satchel, along with a few borrowed items to help her get home, tied up the front sides of her skirt to hitch it up out of the way for her climb, and of course brought an armful of sheets. Setting her little lantern down, she opened the window again, letting the night's fresh air fill the room as she sat on the floor, twisting the sheets up for maximum strength and tying them together.

When she was satisfied with her rope, Molly got up and tied one end to the bed post, then let the rest down from the window, where it fell to about a foot off the ground. All there was to do now was climb down and freedom awaits, Molly thought. Without a glance back, she climbed up onto the windowsill, wrapping her arm around one sheet, and stretching her foot down for a foothold. The masonry was fairly smooth, but there probably would be enough to grip of she was barefoot, and so she kicked off her shoes, watching as they disappeared into the darkness below, hitting the ground with faint slaps where she could hopefully retrieve them when she got to the bottom. Her feet found purchase, and she took a second, feeling the precariousness of sitting on the edge, before slipping fully off her perch and letting the sheet take her weight. She couldn't help but release a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as her rope held, taking another big one before starting to edge down the wall, feeling her way with her feet as she let the rope slide inch by inch through her hands.

She had just reached the top arch of the window below when there was an ominous ripping sound, and she dropped a couple of inches, letting out a little scream and hanging on for dear life. Once she was certain she wasn't plummeting right this moment, she glanced up, just about able to make out in the moonlight where the fabric had frayed against the sill and started to rip. It had only torn part way across, but she knew how much easier it was to rend fabric once it had already started, and was faced with the dreadful certainty that it wouldn't hold for the rest of her descent.

As far as she could see, she had two choices; down or up. She wouldn't have to go down much further to get purchase on the next windowsill down, but would certainly have to smash the window to get in, and then there would be no hiding her escape attempt from Sherlock, who she doubted would be as merciful about the damages as he had been about her harmlessly rummaging in his bedroom. Going up meant she could slip back in the open window, get rid of the evidence of her attempt and Sherlock would be none the wiser, but it would be more of a strain on the sheet, a strain she wasn't convinced it could take. What was she more afraid of, the fall or the man?

Looking above her again, Molly realised that she really wasn't all that far from the windowsill above her. All she had to do was get her feet back up onto the ledge above this window, take one hand off the sheet and she could boost herself up to grab the window ledge, pulling herself up on that rather than rely on the sheet. Easy. Decision made, she got up into position, and went for it.

Then everything happened very quickly and yet almost in slow motion at the same time. Her foot slipped, the sheet tore and her fingers failed to get a grip on the windowsill above her. For a split second she was plummeting, screaming, certain the fall would kill her, and then a hand shot out of the darkness above her, grasping her wrist and bringing her fall to an abrupt stop. So abrupt that she slammed into the wall, feeling the brickwork graze her knees and cheek, and her own nails raked her rescuers arm before she could get a proper grip back.

"Sherlock!" She panted, looking up in wonder at her unlikely hero.

"Who else would it be?" He grunted, "Give me your other hand, I'm starting to lose you."

She tried, reaching up to where his other hand extended to her, their fingers brushing but not enough to grip. Just a little more, she thought, bracing her feet against the wall and kicking up for extra momentum. Their hands locked, and he pulled her back up through the window.

As soon as she was safely up in the window frame, Sherlock abruptly pulled away from her, putting as much distance between them as the small room would allow, pacing against the back wall and casting long shadows in the lantern's light. Molly's legs were shaking as she lowered them to the floor, her bare feet against the floor boards reminding her of her shoes dropping into the darkness below. Her knees folded beneath her as she slid off the sill and she collapsed onto the floor, the adrenaline fading and tears of fear, relief and disappointment starting to make their way down her cheeks, the saltiness stinging her cuts.

"Stupid, foolish girl!"

Molly's head snapped up, cowering as she saw the look of rage Sherlock was directing at her as he paced.

"I... I'm s...s... Sorry." She stammered, hiccuping a sob before trying again, "I'm sorry. Th... Thank you for saving me."

"No! Don't thank me, I don't need your gratitude, and you'll be wishing to take it back soon enough. Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?" He stopped pacing and gestured angrily to his arm and she winced as she saw the blood dripping down from three long gouges where her nails had caught him. "You think you're sorry now, you have no idea how sorry you're going to be! You'll wish I'd let you smash your skull on the cobblestones!"

Molly's shaking increased as she shrank back away from him in fear.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked in a small voice.

She wouldn't have thought it possible, but this just seemed to anger him more and she saw a flash of disgust pass over his features before he turned away from her, raking a hand roughly through his hair before spinning on her again.

"You're not listening! _I'm_ not going to **do** anything to you, you've already done it all yourself with your stupidity!"

"I... I don't understand."

"Because you're not trying to! You look at me like I'm a monster, a _freak_! Everyone does, some even before this happened to me, but you're letting it blind you. Or perhaps it's just your stubborn will to get back to that sad little life of yours, to the boyfriend you don't even love and who doesn't love you, and your substitute father figure and your job with the doctors who have clearly taught you nothing!"

Molly's jaw gaped as she muddled through his words, shocked at what he said about himself and how much he seemed to know about her. The only thing that seemed to sink in was a prick of indignation at his insulting her work.

"I... I can bandage that up for you if you want?" She offered, nodding at his arm.

"No, you've done enough damage already." He said in a defeated tone, all the anger seeming to have left him. He turned away from her again, this time walking out the door into the dark hall beyond, melting into the shadows and leaving her alone, shivering under the open window, more confused than she'd ever been.

 _AN:Still my favourite chapter I've written so far, lol. Thanks again to my followers and reviewers, you make my day :)_


	6. Would You Have Dinner With Me?

**Chapter 6 - Would You Have Dinner With Me?**

 _28th June 1867 - Holmes Manor, Mrs Hudson's Kitchen._

"There you are dear, are you alright? Sherlock told me what happened, and I went out and got your shoes this morning." Mrs Hudson said the second Molly walked into the kitchen late the next morning. By the time she'd got back to bed and fallen asleep last night it was well into the early hours, so she'd slept late as a result, and wasn't surprised Mrs Hudson had already heard. She couldn't say she minded, as a little maternal comfort was just what she needed.

"I'm fine, thank you." She replied, picking up her shoes and slipping them on, grateful it had been a dry night. "He lets you out then?"

"Oh, I have my own key, who do you think takes care of the garden? He knows I'm not going anywhere, couldn't chase me away if he tried, and believe me he has." Mrs Hudson corrected her, putting a cup of tea down in front of Molly on her way past. Molly frowned slightly that she didn't squeeze her shoulder as well like she normally did, but put it down to her friend being offended at her attempt to leave.

"Well, looks like I'm not either... Going anywhere, I mean." She tried to reassure her, and she meant it, having no intentions to try and steal the older woman's keys or make any other kind of escape attempt any time soon. What Sherlock had said about her stubbornness to return was right in a way, and she had resolved to give this place more of a fair chance, and perhaps when she'd earned herself some freedom like Mrs Hudson had she'd be allowed to write back home. "I just wish he'd explain why." She lamented.

"I wish I could tell you too dear, but he told me to let you work it out. That's quite a compliment coming from him if he thinks you can though, usually he just assumes everyone else is an idiot." Some bread and butter landed before Molly now, but still no contact.

"I'm sure he thinks I am too, after what he said last night."

Mrs Hudson paused thoughtfully, as though trying to figure out how to phrase her next pearl of wisdom. "Well the thing about Sherlock, he talks a lot when you get him going, but I always found his actions spoke louder. Don't pay too much attention to the mean things he says, and you'll see the real him soon enough."

Molly nodded, thinking it over as she chewed on her breakfast. She had to admit there was a lot of truth in what the older woman said, Sherlock's words to her had been cold and cruel, but there had been kindness, mercy and compassion in his actions. His keeping her prisoner was the only bad thing he'd done to her, but it sounded like there was a good reason for it somewhere, and he was trying to make her stay as comfortable as possible, giving her work to keep her occupied but not treating her as a servant. Speaking of which...

"Well I suppose I'd better get moving, rooms to air and fires to tend." She got up from the table, draining her tea and pushing her plate away. "I guess I'll see you dinner time?"

"Alright, dear. Oh, but we're not eating in here tonight, we'll be in the dining room. I'll put something nice in your wardrobe for you to wear." Mrs Hudson told her.

"What's the occasion?" Molly asked, in surprise. Was someone else visiting the hall?

"No occasion, Sherlock will just be joining us is all. About time too." She clucked disapprovingly.

"You mean he hasn't... I always thought he was just eating in his room." Molly said in shock, wondering how he could possibly survive without. No wonder the man was so thin!

"Oh he does, but he just sort of... Grazes." Mrs Hudson said, her brow furrowed in motherly concern "Nibbles here and there at bits I bring him, just enough to keep him going. He says digestion slows him down and he won't let anything distract him from his work. But there's nothing like a hot meal and even he remembers that every now and then. I like to spoil him a bit when he does, to see if I can tempt him down more often." She smiled again and started to bustle about again, and looking around Molly could see a feast in the making. Privately she thought no wonder he doesn't come down often if he was going to be overwhelmed with enough to feed an army every time he does, but she kept her thoughts to herself, not wanting to spoil it for the older woman, and let herself out of the kitchen.

When Molly went back to her room at four thirty to get ready for dinner, she was shocked to see a delicate pink evening gown hanging on her wardrobe to greet her. The cut was a little out of fashion, probably having belonged to Mrs Hudson since she was Molly's age, but Molly thought it was lovely all the same, with it's sleeker skirts that she imagined were eminently more practical than the fuller ones modern ladies waltzed around in. Mrs Hudson must have been about her size when she was younger too, as it fit beautifully. She quickly brushed out her hair, putting it back up in a slightly more elegant updo, before making her way down to dinner, feeling like a proper lady.

She hesitated before going into the dining hall though, hearing Mrs Hudson still banging about in the kitchen, and after a seconds deliberation she turned into the kitchen instead.

"Anything I can help with?" She asked, looking about in shock at the sheer amount of food piled on dishes about the room.

"Oh my... Come closer dear, let me get a good look at you! You look beautiful, I knew that old gown of mine would look good on you, such a shame it doesn't fit me any more, but then it needs a fresh young face to do it justice." Mrs Hudson enthused.

"Oh... Thank you." Molly blushed, not used to such compliments "So... What should I take?" She reached for a plate of roasted beef in gravy, but Mrs Hudson swiftly pulled it away from her.

"No, nothing that might spill... Why don't you just take this, and I'll bring the rest along on the trolley." Mrs Hudson said, passing her a basket of rolls before hurrying off again. Molly smiled and shook her head, taking the rolls and leaving her to it.

When she walked into the dining room, she was surprised to see Sherlock there waiting, sitting at the head of the long oak dining table with a long suffering look.

"I don't suppose there's any use hoping that's it?" He quipped, nodding at the basket as she put it down on the table.

"Afraid not" Molly replied, biting her lip to suppress giggles at Mrs Hudson's overzealous cooking and her unwilling victim.

She glanced along the table, noting the two remaining place settings, one at the other end to Sherlock and one right in the middle of one long side, so all three diners would be as far apart as was possible. Not certain where she was supposed to sit, she dithered between the two, until Sherlock gave a little cough to get her attention and gestured to the middle seat. No sooner had she sat down, then Mrs Hudson came rattling in with her trolley and enough food to fill the long table.

"Alright, help yourselves." Mrs Hudson said happily, taking her seat.

Molly loaded up her plate, taking a little more than she usually would so as not to disappoint Mrs Hudson, and mindful of the amount that would go to waste if she didn't. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Sherlock as he did likewise, checking to see if a theory she had come up with during the day about him and his behaviour held true. Last night his hands had held her up well enough, but she noticed he did struggle a little with the finer motor skills of using his knife and fork, though he did a good job of hiding it. She also noticed how at one point he splashed the scalding hot gravy on his hand he didn't flinch or even seem to notice at first. Another thing was the blinking, which he seemed to do far less than was usual, and when he did it was slower, deliberate.

"You're a leper, aren't you?" She blurted out near the end of her dinner, then swiftly covered her mouth with her hand, cursing her tactlessness.

For his part, Sherlock didn't seem to mind. He smiled grimly as he put down his cutlery and dabbed his mouth with a napkin before speaking.

"Yes. You got there in the end, although not as quick as I would have expected for a nurse."

Molly's brow furrowed. "But I'm not a nurse." She said, confused as to why he would think so.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to frown. "But you didn't deny working with doctors yesterday, you even offered to bandage my arm?"

"Well yes, that's not difficult." Molly shrugged, "And I do work at the doctors surgery, but not in the surgery as such, more under it in - "

"The mortuary." Sherlock finished for her, looking frustrated with himself, "there's always something!"

"How do you know so much about me anyway?" Molly asked, her food all but forgotten in light of finally getting some answers "All that stuff you said last night... And when I first arrived you knew I was an orphan. How? Have you been watching me?"

Sherlock snorted in sustain at the idea.

"No, Sherlock just has a sixth sense for those kind of things." Mrs Hudson answered "Just has to look at someone to tell their whole life story. Used to put the wind up a lot of people, but it has its uses."

"Not a sixth sense, Mrs Hudson, I believe sight is counted as one of the primary senses as a matter of fact." Sherlock corrected, rolling his eyes. "I merely make deductions based on what I observe. For instance, when you arrived you had in your satchel a letter addressed to a Doctor Michael Stamford, that you were clearly hand delivering. The late hour you arrived here suggested you were on a return trip so it was for someone you were close to back home. The way you looked at me told me you must work with this doctor as your gaze lingered on the symptoms of my condition in a way that suggested you were used to seeing such things.

I deduced about your gentleman caller back home from your relationship with the Detective; clearly there is a strong bond there, but one of friendship, perhaps erring on the paternal; you didn't talk about him like a lover. His wife has clearly left him, as the woman I remember him being married to would not have tolerated a girl like you spending so much time with him to cultivate such a close bond. As an orphaned girl at your age it would make sense for you to be looking for a husband to support you, and yet you're not looking at Lestrade? That says you already had a young man in mind at the time of his breakup, although clearly not that close to your mind, or your heart, since you never mentioned him as someone who might be looking for you.

As for your status as an orphan, that was obvious in so many ways I'm surprised you had to ask. For starters, the roses. Two of them in fact, a very telling number. If it was for a single person you would have picked a single flower, or a bunch of no less than five as that is more aesthetically pleasing. Two is precise, two roses for two people, most likely parents. Yet when you said your family would come looking for you, you were throwing off all kinds of tells that you were lying. If they wouldn't come looking for you either you weren't very close or they were dead, if you weren't very close you wouldn't be picking them flowers, therefore you were close and the flowers were for their graves. There were a number of other things I could mention as to how I knew, but that's enough to be going on with, don't you think?"

Molly found her mouth gaping as she finished listening to Sherlock dissect every detail of their meeting and pull details about her life from it. His logic was undeniable, but for him to have come to those conclusions so quickly and easily was astounding.

"That's... Incredible." She said finally.

Sherlock's smile at her words was dazzling. "It's a science. Now it's your turn, you've already deduced that I am a leper, what else do you deduce about our situation?"

Molly thought about it for a second, one thing standing out to her in particular. Our situation.

"This is a leper colony," she realised "Your own private leper colony, you've locked yourself away to prevent the spread of the disease. That's why you didn't want Lestrade coming in here, you weren't threatening him at all, you were protecting him. And that's why ... Why I can't leave."

"Good." Sherlock replied, drawing the word out and sounding like a schoolteacher praising his best student.

"But, Mrs Hudson -" Molly glanced over at the older lady, evaluating her, before looking back at Sherlock, "She has no visible symptoms. Why is she here?"

"Because I can't get rid of her." He grinned at the older woman, showing her he was joking. "She was already my housekeeper when I used to live in London, and followed me here to care for me, despite the risk. But as far as we know she hasn't been affected at all." Sherlock agreed pensively, "Currently I'm not sure whether she has a natural immunity to it, or whether it's due to our efforts to completely avoid physical contact since I was infected. I was rather hoping you would serve as a control subject to test the theory, I might have even let you go after a reasonable amount of time if you didn't appear to be affected, but that's no longer an option after last night. Not only was there contact, but you scratched me." He pulled up his sleeve to show his bandaged forearm. "With my blood and tissue under your nails, I'd be shocked if you weren't infected. In light of this I've cautioned Mrs Hudson to avoid physical contact with you also, I'm sure you understand."

Molly's heart plummeted, looking over at the woman who had been like a mother to her this past week, who looked equally saddened by the situation. That explained why she had been avoiding contact all morning, and Molly missed it already. As if being cut of from the rest of the world wasn't bad enough, she would have to endure being denied contact from those here with her. She wouldn't fight it, not now she understood the situation, but she felt a terrible pang of loneliness at the prospect.

"Wait, if you hadn't touched me before last night, how did I get upstairs into a bed the first night?" Molly asked as it occurred to her. "Surely Mrs Hudson couldn't have carried me all that way?"

"We used a stretcher. But I fear you labour under some false assumptions about Mrs H, she is far more spry and certainly more wily than you give her credit for. I suspect she has been exaggerating her fragility to get you to take the greater share of the housework." Sherlock pointed out, clearly greatly amused at the situation.

Molly looked in shock at Mrs Hudson, who looked sheepishly back at her.

"Well you kept offering dear... I couldn't say no." Her lips twitched up in an apologetic smile, and Molly found herself smiling back, and then giggling. Together they laughed, tears prickling Molly's eyes. Something inside her clicked, an acceptance that this was her life now, and it could be good if she'd let it. She'd kept herself too busy to dwell on it back at Finchley, but she'd already been lonely ever since her father, the last of her family, had died. She may not be able to return to that life, she may not be able to be physically close to her new friends, but something about it felt right, something filled the hole she had been carrying around inside of her for five years. She had a family again.

 _AN: Thanks for your continual support to my regular commenters Lovely whim and Cassidy Rose, you guys haven't missed a chapter so far, and I always look forward to hearing from you, and thanks also to Bella Cuore for your comment on the last chapter, glad to hear from you._

 _To the unnamed Guest who commented on the last chapter; if you gave me the benefit of the doubt and are still reading, I am sorry you felt Sherlock was out of character so far, but I hope this chapter has explained his behaviour a little better to you, and you can see he's not being a monster for the sake of it, just a necessary evil, walking the fine line for the greater good, and being charactistically unapologetic about it._


	7. Every Fairy Tale

**Chapter 7 - Every Fairy Tale Needs A Good Old Fashioned Villain.**

 _28th June 1867 - Holmes Manor_

"Follow me." Sherlock had said once they'd had dessert, and so Molly had, leaving Mrs Hudson behind to clear the table. He said nothing as he led her up the stairs, through the west wing past his lab and his bedroom and up another staircase at the end of the corridor, to a small landing with one door, but he paused to throw a smirk over his shoulder at her before opening it.

Molly gasped, a bright smile appearing on her face as she took in the room, shelves upon shelves of books in solid oak shelves. She walked across the soft carpet to run her fingers along the spines of some of the books, reading the titles.

"How did I not know this was here?"

"Probably because other than to steal my keys, you've been avoiding this wing of the house, or more specifically me, like the plague." He said, smiling grimly at his own dark humour. "But after feeling your hands last night I realised you might like it up here."

Molly turned to look at him, her brow crinkling despite the huge smile she still wore.

"How did my hands tell you that?"

"The callouses. You'd be amazed what you can learn about a person from the callouses on their hands, if you know what to look for, and yours have turned a lot of pages in their time." He hesitated for a second, dropping eye contact in an almost bashful manner. "They couldn't tell me what kind of thing you prefer to read, but we're reasonably well stocked here, I'm sure you'll find something to your liking."

"I'm sure I will." She softly replied, also dropping her eyes and blushing. When she looked up again he was moving away, leaving his jacket draped over the back of an armchair as he walked over to the fireplace, pushed up his sleeves and took a knee to build the fire.

"Oh, I should be doing that!" She offered, hurrying over.

"Nonsense. Take a seat." He waved her off.

She hesitated a second and then relented, sitting herself down in the armchair opposite the one he'd claimed with his jacket. Both chairs were well worn, and mismatched in style, but it didn't detract from the dignity of the room, but rather lent it a homely air. The flames successfully taking in the hearth, Sherlock pushed himself back to his feet with a small grunt, moving back to take the chair opposite Molly and studying her.

"So," he began, "The stories they tell about me in the towns, they must have become quite something for you to react as you did the first night, and to distract you from my true condition for so long."

Molly's mouth gaped before she could compose herself. "Yes, well... It wasn't that as such." She stalled, "It was more... Well you don't exactly look like the stories I've heard of lepers either."

"I still have all my appendages, you mean." He said with a raised eyebrow, lifting his hand and turning it about in the firelight, making a show of examining it. "It is a common misconception that leprosy causes limbs to fall off. It simply deadens the feeling in them, among other things. When people can't feel pain they get careless, and lose their limbs to secondary infections." He explained. "Since I was infected I've taken meticulous care of my transport to ensure that doesn't happen."

Molly nodded, and then quirked an eyebrow also. "Scarcely eating for weeks at a time is meticulous care is it?"

Sherlock laughed out loud at this, a deep throaty rumble.

"Some habits die hard, I guess." He confessed, "But anyway, we digress, or rather, you changed the subject. What are they saying about the mysterious man in the mysterious manor nowadays? Don't worry about sparing my feelings, I assure you it'll amuse rather than offend me."

"They say you are half man half animal, cursed by a witch who you turned away when she sought refuge here in return for a flower. Some... Some even say that the beast in you sometimes takes over and when that happens, you hunt passing travellers, and that you're not all that nice in human form either." Molly recited, watching him uncertainly for his reaction, despite his assurances.

"Uh, lycanthropy, how dull." Sherlock sighed "I had hoped they'd come up with something more interesting, but as long as it keeps folk away I suppose I can't complain. Oh, but I do like the bit about Irene being a witch, I'm sure even she'd appreciate that, although it was certainly not a flower she was offering me."

"Irene? Is she a leper like you?" Molly asked, trying and failing to be nonchalant. She didn't know why she was feeling a sudden spike of jealousy for the man she had hated until recently, but it was hard to ignore nonetheless.

"Goodness no, I rather think she'd kill herself if she thought she'd been infected, vain creature she is."

"Then how-"

"Did she curse me with this affliction?" Sherlock finished for her, leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees and hands together in front of his mouth as though praying, "Did you know what causes an illness, biologically? The bacterium they call it, it's only recently been discovered. There's a group of scientists in Norway who are dedicated to studying the bacterium that causes leprosy, and that's where he found it. The criminal mastermind James Moriarty, my nemesis, and evil incarnate. He stole their research, putting his own scientists on it to expedite their progress and was able to isolate the bacterium to use as a sort of... biological weapon, to sell to the highest bidder. If there was someone who someone wanted out of the way, say opposing political parties or such, they could pay him to infect the individual, then pack them off to one of the colonies. Ingenious, really." He admitted, smiling indecently for a second before adding "Of course he needed to be stopped, so I took the case."

"Is that what you did before, you were a detective? Is that how you knew Gregory?" Molly interrupted to ask, intrigued.

"Gregory? Oh, you mean Lestrade. Yes, I was a Consulting Detective, and Lestrade often consulted with me on his cases when he worked at Scotland Yard. Did he ever mention why he moved out to a smaller station?" He asked with sudden curiosity.

"Uh, no, sorry." Molly answered, guiltily feeling she should have asked, and making a mental note to do it if and when Sherlock let her write to her friends. Her thoughts didn't dwell on it long though, as she was too enraptured in Sherlock's tale. "So, you took the case, and then what? Did this Moriarty want you out of the way? Did he use it on you?"

"Not Moriarty, it was Irene, remember?" Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes at her "Moriarty enjoyed our games of cat and mouse too much to want me out of the way himself."

"Oh, right... So how did this Irene get involved? Was she working for him?"

"Not exactly, she was a known associate of his, but not involved in this particular crime, not until I involved her, that is. It wasn't difficult to convince her to help us, she's loyal only to herself, happy to side with whoever she thinks can offer her the best deal, and we had something she wanted." He said with a glint in his eye and sly smile

"What was that?" Molly asked breathlessly, finding herself now also leaning forward in her chair.

"Me." He said smugly, "Irene was and is a seductress, used to having men fall at her feet and giving her anything she wanted. I was the exception and that excited and enticed her more than anything. A couple of fancy meals, a little flirting and suggestion and she was more than willing to do what we needed." he explained, causing another unreasonable stab of jealousy in Molly "She destroyed his labs, all his research and his samples... Well, almost all."

"The one she infected you with. Why did she turn on you if she loved you so much?"

"Desired, not loved. People like me and Irene... We don't _Love_ " he said, sustain dripping from the word, "Emotion is the grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment, it is what makes us weak and causes us to make mistakes. Overconfidence was my mistake, underestimating my enemy. Irene likes to have... Insurance against her lovers, some kind of power over them - Power, that is her true love. I thought I had no weaknesses for her to exploit, I didn't count on her keeping a sample of the disease. So when I broke it off with her after she had done what I needed her to... Well, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'." He concluded his tale.

Molly sat back, chewing her lip slightly as she thought about his story.

"You lead her on, then called it off once you had what you wanted from her?" She said carefully, frowning a little in disapproval.

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up.

"You think I deserved what I got?"

"Well... No, no one deserves that." Molly said fairly "But I do think it was rather unkind of you."

Sherlock's lip quirked, huffing a laugh at her.

"You pity her? Don't try to put yourself in her shoes, they'd be a terrible fit. I was merely playing the game she had played with countless foolish young men, she knew the rules, she just wasn't accustomed to losing"

Molly subsided, though privately she thought that Irene's actions didn't sound like those of a sore loser, more of a broken heart. She snapped out of her thoughts seeing movement across from her; Sherlock digging a tobacco pouch and pipe out of his pocket and standing up, heading for another armchair by the window.

"I need to think." He informed her, "I trust if I open this you won't try to throw yourself out again?"

Molly flushed in embarrassment at the reminder, and shock her head, then got to her feet.

"I think I'll just head back to my room." She said

"Suit yourself." Was his reply, staring out the window with his hands behind his back.

Molly stared at his back for a minute, thinking over what she now knew about him, the dichotomy of kindness and coldness that seemed to exists inside him. If the stabs of jealousy she had been feeling were anything to go by, she would have to watch her heart carefully around this man. That in mind, she picked a book from the shelves and retreated.

 _AN: Sorry for such a short chapter after the long wait, guys, just tying up some answers before we move along. See you Wednesday for more, and don't forget to drop me a review to let me know your thoughts :)_


	8. Brother Mine

**Chapter 8 - Brother Mine**

 _30th June 1867 - Holmes Manor_

"Oh good, you're up."

Molly jumped at Sherlock's voice coming from the doorway to her room, and straightened quickly from lacing her shoes.

"Sherlock! How long have you been there?" She asked, slightly mortified that she hadn't heard the door opening as she dressed and didn't know how much he'd seen.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes in answer to her question. "Come along, there's someone you should meet, the sooner we satisfy his curiosity the sooner he'll leave."

"Someone else is here?" Molly gasped, excitement rising as she followed him out of the room.

"Not yet, but he will be shortly. By now he'll have received my missive asking for some ladies' clothing to be sent along with the usual supplies, and won't be able to resist sticking his beaky nose in." Sherlock half explained, leading her not towards the entrance hall, but rather through the drawing room above it, where he pulled back the curtains to reveal a set of french doors, which he unlocked and opened onto a balcony that jutted out over the entrance.

The sun seemed almost blinding to Molly after the dinginess of the manor, and she had to shade her eyes as she turned to look at him.

"You requested clothes... For me?"

"Yes, well, we can't have you running around in those rags you arrived in and Mrs Hudson's hand-me-downs for the rest of your life, can we?" He answered, looking out at the horizon rather than her.

"Thank you. That's very thoughtful of you, and generous." Molly said with a shy smile. Her eyes were adjusting to the sun now, and it's warmth on her skin felt delightful, as did the gentle breeze that was making escaped tendrils of her hair dance in front of her face.

"Just being practical." Sherlock insisted, though his eyes slid over to her for a fraction of a second, the corner of his lip twitching upwards, and she heard the unspoken ' _You're welcome_ ' the look contained.

Movement down below caught Molly's eye, and she followed Sherlock's silently expectant gaze down the long driveway, where an ornately carved black carriage, leading another simpler one, had stopped and someone was getting down to unlock the gates. She couldn't help the intake of breath as they swung open, freedom beckoning to her. From this floor, she could probably drop down from the balcony reasonably unscathed and make a break for it, but she wouldn't. The carriage rode through, the manservant closing the gates again behind it before swinging back up next to the driver.

"You mentioned the usual supplies... How often do they come?" Molly asked in almost a whisper, her eyes glued to the procession making its way up the driveway.

"Once a week, I believe, usually through the other smaller gate at the back of the property. Of course that would be beneath Mycroft." His lip curled as he said the name, getting visibly tenser as the carriages came nearer, and Molly found herself anxious about meeting someone who could ruffle him so.

"Mycroft?" She asked fearfully.

"My brother." He almost spat, eyes narrowing as the carriages stopped below them. Molly held her breath as the manservant got down again, opening the carriage door for his master, who descended, dressed in an immaculate suit and carrying an umbrella despite the clear sky. If Sherlock had not just told her that this man was his brother she would never have guessed, as she could see very little resemblance. Whereas Sherlock was lean, his brother was more rounded, and instead of a full head of curls like Sherlock, Mycroft had a severely receded hairline with a combover, though this might be due to the apparent age gap between the two.

"Taking in waifs and strays now are we, Sherlock?" The man called up to the balcony, his eyes sharply examining her in a way that did in fact remind her of Sherlock, except for the disdainful scowl on his face. She blushed furiously, refocusing her own gaze demurely on her shoes. Living with Sherlock and his relaxed attitude to social proprieties had made her forget somewhat the great difference in class between them, but now Mycroft's words and actions reminded her of what she really was, and the fact she was far out of her league among such high class individuals as Mycroft certainly was and his brother must be. Sherlock, though, seemed unconcerned.

"Well that's no way to speak of a guest, Mycroft. You haven't even greeted her yet." He challenged.

Mycroft's face looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, but he soon plastered on the most fake smile Molly had ever seen. "Apologies. Good day to you Miss Hooper."

Molly's lips parted in shock that he seemed to know who she was, but she was uncertain as to whether or how she was supposed to respond. She tried to catch Sherlock's eye for assistance, but he seemed to have lost interest in her now, focused solely on his brother.

"And it's hardly my fault she wandered in." He said in answer to the original question, "You were supposed to weave a tale of me so fearsome no-one would dare set foot near this place."

Molly's jaw dropped even further at that, realising they were responsible for the rumours circulating about the Beast in the manor. No wonder he had been curious about them! She didn't get a chance to vocalise on this though, as the brothers continued their verbal sparring.

"There is a fine balance, brother dear, between causing enough fear to keep people away and enough to draw them in." Mycroft argued, "Had I made them any more extreme, you'd have had lynch mobs knocking down the gates to kill you."

"So why didn't you? Think of the money you'd save."

Mycroft gave another sardonic smile to his brothers sarcasm.

"I rather expect it would upset Mummy. But it might yet happen, you know, if the townsfolk were to discover you hold the girl here." Mycroft's eyes fixed on Molly instead for his next sentence, "There are search posters from here to Coventry, courtesy of that old Detective friend of yours." His eyes slid back to Sherlock.

"Gregory is still looking?" Molly half whispered, feeling a wrench of sorrow for her friend. She turned to Sherlock, speaking with more volume and boldness, "Perhaps if I was to-"

"What are you still doing here, don't you have floors to mop or something?" Sherlock snapped at her, cutting her short, before turning back and continuing to his brother, "So take care of it, surely that won't be difficult for a man of your resources..."

Molly drew in a sharp breath of hurt and her eyes burned, as she turned away and fled back indoors, feeling humiliated and confused. Being as Sherlock had fetched her so early, she decided to head down to Mrs Hudson's kitchen, for some breakfast and a sympathetic ear.

"And then he said 'Don't you have floors to mop or something?', sending me away like a common maid, when five minutes ago he'd been defending me as a guest to Mycroft" Molly ranted, as she helped Mrs Hudson carry in the last of the crates of food that had been dropped off by the back door by Mycroft's people. "I mean, what am I supposed to think? What am I to him, a guest or a servant?"

"I wouldn't trouble yourself over it, Molly dear, Sherlock always gets a bit snippy when his brother is about, but he'll be back to his old self in no time once he's gone. Now, let's see what he got you." Mrs Hudson added with an excited little hand clap and bright smile, nodding at the trunk she'd set aside.

Molly sighed, putting Sherlock's behaviour to the back of her mind and giving Mrs Hudson a grateful smile as she pulled the trunk towards them and opened it up. Both women gasped and sighed in delight at the dresses inside, and Molly picked one up to hold it up against her, marvelling at it.

"There must be some kind of mistake, I couldn't possibly work in this!" She exclaimed twisting on the spot so the full skirt billowed.

"Oh that's nice... And here's one in gold... Ah, here we go, this is a bit more practical." Mrs Hudson said, pulling out a plainer dress and apron.

"Is that real lace?" Molly exclaimed, dropping the dress and reaching out to run the fabric of the apron through her hands, "I never owned anything so fancy, and this is for cleaning in?"

"No reason why you can't look nice while you're working, my husband always told me," Mrs Hudson said, giving her a playful nudge "So does this answer your question?"

"Question?"

"About whether he thinks of you as a servant or guest?" Mrs Hudson reminded her with a knowing look.

Molly bit her lip and looked down at the chest full of clothes, the servants clothing and high society dresses all mixed up together. She opened her mouth to answer, but was swiftly drowned out by one of the bells on the wall clanging as its rope was violently pulled.

"Oh, looks like Mycroft has left, and Sherlock wants his tea." Mrs Hudson called over it, knowing her master's moods well, and putting the kettle on. Together they put the fresh food away in the larder as it was boiling, and when it was done, Molly offered to take the cup up to Sherlock.

"Are you sure you want to, after him upsetting you earlier?" Mrs Hudson asked "He'll probably still be a bit moody, you know."

"I can handle it." Molly told her, "And I want to thank him properly for the clothes."

"Very well then. Oh, and if you can manage, these will be for him, hopefully they'll cheer him up a bit." Mrs Hudson loaded a box of newspapers, medical journals and a few rattling jars into Molly's arms, waiting a second to make sure she had it and the teacup balanced before stepping back.

"Right then." Molly muttered, carefully carrying the stuff out of the kitchen and up the stairs. It wasn't difficult to figure out which room Sherlock had hidden himself away in, as the smell of smoke drifted from under the door to his lab. Gingerly balancing the things in her arms, she managed to get a hand free to turn the knob and let herself in. Choosing not to comment on the risk of contamination from the pipe in his mouth as his eyes were glued to his microscope, Molly set his tea down next to him, and then the box down on the side.

"Here you go, your tea, and the things your brother sent for you." She announced, getting only a vague grunt in return. "You two don't get on then, I take it?" She ventured.

This certainly did get a response as he drew back from the viewer sharply, pulling the pipe abruptly from his mouth.

"He's a pompous insufferable know-it-all who insists on treating me like a child!" He complained "As if any of this was my fault! And why are you still wearing those rags, are you unhappy with the clothes I sent for?"

"No, no, they're lovely, beautiful even, I just haven't had time yet, I was helping Mrs Hudson with the boxes. Thank you, again, for the clothes though, and... And pass on my thanks next time you write to your brother, to whoever picked them out."

"I never thank Mycroft, it goes right to his head." He muttered into his teacup as he took a sip.

"Still, it was good of him to visit." Molly insisted, determined to inject some positivity, "Does he always stay so far away outside?"

"Of course, he's a very important man, practically is the British government, the nation can't afford for him to come down with an incurable disease. Unfortunately." Sherlock added darkly.

Molly bit her lip, trying not to laugh at the extremes of Sherlock's petulance.

"What about... Mycroft mentioned your Mother... Does she ever visit?"

"Thank heavens no. Mycroft has kept the location of my exile secret from our parents to prevent them rushing in here and getting themselves infected. They'd never think to look in my childhood home, they think I sold it on as soon as I came into my inheritance. She still writes me letters though, for Mycroft to pass on, there is probably one in there." He nodded to the box, putting his teacup back in it's saucer and taking another draw on his pipe. "And then she gets all upset I hardly ever write her back, I mean what am I suppose to say? You're the only new thing that has happened around here in years, and my Mother will hardly care for the arrival of a new housekeeper."

"I'm sure she'd be happy just to hear from you." Molly said evenly, hesitating before venturing her next question. "Actually I was thinking about that... Well not, that exactly, more about... About letters. I was wondering if maybe... Maybe you'd let me write to my friends back in the village? Like to Gregory, and then he can stop worrying and take those posters down your brother said about."

"And what would you say, in these letters?" Sherlock asked, all the animation of the last few minutes disappearing and a cool calculating mask replacing them.

"Well just... that I'm okay and I'm here with you, and why I can't come home...something like that." She finished lamely, looking expectantly at Sherlock for an answer.

"No." He said sharply, turning back to his microscope.

"But-"

"I said no!" Sherlock snapped, turning back to face her with a scowl on his face "They can't know that I'm here, or what I am! And if you can't keep a secret then you can't write."

"Okay, then I will, I'll keep your secrets, just tell me what I should say instead and I'll write that." Molly implored desperately, "Just let me-"

"No. Forget your friends, let them think you're dead. It's better this way, trust me." Sherlock put his foot down, a hint of sadness colouring his words and expression, before he hid behind his microscope again. Molly stood a few more seconds, wanting desperately to argue her case further, but thought better of it, and let herself forlornly back out of the room.

 _AN: Yup, doesn't take Sherlock long to go back to being an ass to her..._

 _I didn't do it last chapter, so thanks again to Lovely whim, Bella Cuire, Cassidy Rose, elbafo, Apprentice08 and my anonomous guests for their comments, love you guys!_


	9. I Need An Assistant

**Chapter 9 - I Need An Assistant**

 _15th July 1867 - Holmes Manor_

Molly was downstairs, having lunch with Mrs Hudson, when there was a loud indistinct shout above them, followed by crashes and frantic footsteps. The two women looked at each other in alarm, for while a few bangs and crashes from upstairs was fairly normal, this sounded like something more.

"Oh, I hope he hasn't hurt himself." Mrs Hudson worried.

"Should we... go check?" Molly asked, looking up at the ceiling as if she could see though it.

"I don't know... He hasn't rung the bell." Mrs Hudson said, though she kept glancing up also, motherly concern all over her face.

"I'll go." Molly decided, getting up and heading upstairs. She knocked gently on the lab door when she got there. "Sherlock? Is everything okay in there? We heard you shouting."

"Then you know it isn't!" He snapped back through the door, "So stop asking pointless stupid questions and go grab some rags to clean this up."

"Right." Molly said for his benefit, as she hadn't yet opened the door, and ran off to get some cleaning rags from the cupboard under the stairs. When she got back up she forwent knocking and let herself straight in, letting out a gasp at the sight of the spray of blood across his table. After working in the mortuary she was fairly used to the sight of blood, but it was the how it got there that worried her. She spotted Sherlock over by the water basin, the water stained red as he bathed the wound while keeping tight pressure on it.

"Are-" she caught herself before asking if he was alright again and asked instead, "how did this happen?"

"The needle," he nodded to it at the same moment she saw it on the desk as she moved things away to clean, "I couldn't get a good grip and my hand slipped, and tore a vein."

"More likely an artery by the amount of blood." She observed, wiping the table down before it could dry on. Sherlock's lack of a response surprised her, and she looked back up to see him staring at her curiously. "I do know the difference." She qualified quietly, averting her eyes again as she continued to clean.

"Clearly." He responded, though the bite was gone from his voice, leaving a grudging respect. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he came closer, temporarily letting go of the wound to pick up one of the rags she brought and press it to it instead.

"That looks like it'll need a couple of stitches, to be safe." Molly advised. She eyed the tourniquet that was on his arm again, probably applied after she decided, and felt sure he'd have the necessary equipment.

"Yes." He replied, confining both her spoken words and thoughts, as he lowered himself back into his seat beside her, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"You're not feeling dizzy, are you? Or faint?" Molly asked in alarm.

"Just waiting for the bleeding to stop." He waved her away with the one hand while his eyes were still shut.

"Okay."

Molly finished cleaning the desk and put it back roughly how it was, before taking the rags and bloodstained basin away to be disposed of. She brought the basin back with fresh hot water she had got from Mrs Hudson, giving the older woman an update on the situation while she was down there. She was shocked on her return to see Sherlock with the needle and thread already in hand, attempting to stitch it himself, though he hadn't got a single stitch in yet, his hands too unsteady.

"Let me." She offered, putting the basin down on the desk before him and holding out a hand expectantly, which he ignored.

"I can do it."

"Sherlock." She said sternly, waiting until he looked up at her before insistently holding her hand out further. "You're going to do more damage to yourself. Let me."

"And allow you to do more damage to _yourself_?" At her confused look he clarified, "You haven't developed any symptoms yet, it is still possible you are in the clear, and taking further risks would be inadvisable."

"I'll barely have to touch you, and I'll wash my hands thoroughly after." She said in a tone that suggested strongly that it was as far as she was willing to compromise on the subject. Sherlock must have got the message as he sighed and handed the implements over. "You have sterilised these, haven't you?" Molly checked.

"In fire." Sherlock answered, nodding to the Bunsen burner on the desk.

Satisfied, Molly got to work, trying to ignore the way Sherlock was watching her every move.

"You have very steady hands." He commented, not even wincing slightly as the thread dragged through his flesh. He probably couldn't feel it, Molly reminded herself.

"Thank you. I used to sew the bodies back up after Mi- Dr Stamford was finished with them." She explained as she worked "In fact I think I'm more practised at sewing flesh than I am sewing clothes, Mum didn't have much of a chance to teach me before she died. That's weird, isn't it?"

"I've never sewn cloth." Sherlock returned, smirking, "What a pair we make."

Molly's eyes shot up to Sherlock's, wondering if he had meant that the way it sounded, but he seemed to think nothing of the offhand comment, so she continued her work, albeit blushing as she did so.

"Okay, that's it." She snipped the remaining thread with a small pair of scissors that had appeared with the needle and thread. "Where do these go?"

"Uh, top drawer on the right." He waved vaguely in the direction of the correct cabinet, with his uninjured arm as he examined the stitches closer. "You know, I could use a pair of steady hands like yours in the lab more often. Mine can't always keep up with my brain nowadays, and you seem to be comfortable and familiar around the equipment."

Molly smiled and blushed more at the compliment, no matter how small. "Yes, of course I'll help. Though I'm not entirely sure what it is you do up here all day." She pulled open the drawer, finding a little bag inside that seemed to be a small first aid kit, stocking more thread, bandages, small bottles of what must be rubbing alcohol, and several syringe needles. She packed the needle, thread and scissors neatly inside.

"Trying to find a cure, of course." He said simply, causing her to look up sharply in amazement, "Who better to research it? I certainly have the time and the motivation."

"Well yes, that's true. Then I'd be honoured to assist you." Molly said decisively, putting the medical kit back into its drawer. As she did though, a piece of paper at the bottom of the drawer caught her eye.

She picked up the clipping from London's Strand magazine, staring at the picture of a clearly healthy Sherlock, his face clean shaven and his hair a little shorter, though equally curly. As good looking as he was though, it was actually his companion who had caught her eye.

"Doctor Watson?"

Sherlock's head whipped round like a dog scenting a rabbit, his eyes narrowing on the piece of paper in her hand and then her.

"You know John?" He asked, but continued before she could answer, "Of course, the doctors surgery above the morgue, it's his, isn't it? The letter you carried was for Michael Stamford, I thought I recognised the name, he and John trained together, it makes sense now."

"That's right. So... You know him too, I mean, you look like you were close?" Molly asked, starting to wonder how many of her acquaintances it would turn out knew Sherlock, and why she'd never heard of him all this time.

"Oh almost inseparable. We shared a flat, he assisted me on my cases... His medical knowledge and army training were most valuable to me. It was the two of us against the rest of the world, Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson. Those were the days." He muttered sadly, staring wistfully at the picture in Molly's hand.

"So what happened? I mean, I know..." She gestured to him, indicating his condition, "But it sounds like you don't see him anymore, why doesn't he visit if you were that close? And I never heard him mention you... Sorry." She hastily added, seeing a brief flicker of hurt cross his face.

"No it's... It's quite alright." He reassured her, visibly pulling himself together. "It's my own fault, I suppose. He doesn't visit because he doesn't know I'm here. He thinks I'm dead."

Molly's brow creased in confusion. "What, because of the leprosy? But he's a doctor, surely he would realise it couldn't -"

A bitter huff of laughter from Sherlock cut her off. "Not the leprosy." He replied "He doesn't even know about that. No, He think's I'm dead because he saw me throw myself off of a building."

"What?" Molly picked up her jaw to say in a hushed shocked tone.

"I faked my death, almost as soon as I knew what was to become of me. It was the only way to get John to leave me alone, to prevent him getting himself infected also trying to doctor me." Sherlock explained, "He had only been married a matter of months, to an outstanding woman who probably would have let him, but she was pregnant, and I couldn't... I wouldn't let him throw that away, put them all in danger, so I... I removed that risk from his life."

Molly absorbed that for a few seconds, her eyes tearing up slightly in sympathy, as her view of the man shifted dramatically again to encompass his self-sacrificing loyalty. Suddenly his harsh behaviour not allowing her contact with her friends made a lot more sense.

"Greg-Lestrade" she corrected herself remembering that was how Sherlock knew him, "he believes it too, doesn't he? That you're dead."

"Yes. He probably would have been more sensible about keeping his distance, but they used to go out drinking together after cases sometimes, he and John, and so I couldn't trust that he would be able keep the truth from him. It was just easier to let them both believe it. Mrs Hudson was supposed to believe it too, but she caught me breaking back into the flat that night to gather some last things for my exile, and wouldn't hear of me being all alone. I'd have had to have her locked up to prevent her following me, but at least she managed to keep it from John, told him she was going to live with her sister in Scotland, I think."

Molly nodded, feeling an extra surge of affection for Mrs Hudson, for her loyalty. It was such a shame that two people who care so much for the people in their lives should have to cut themselves off from those very people. She glanced up through tear-damp eyelashes at Sherlock's face, seeing a glimpse of the sadness and loneliness he usually hid so well, written across his features as he stared at the picture in her hand. Without a second thought, she put her arms around him, giving him a comforting squeeze and aiming a kiss for his cheek.

Her kiss didn't land though, as Sherlock ripped himself from her arms so forcefully he nearly crashed into the table behind him, which he quickly hobbled around.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" He shouted at her as he did, "Are you determined to share in my affliction?"

Molly felt the sting of rejection in his actions, but didn't back down and cower at his raging, seeing it now for what it was; the shield of a man who cared too much and didn't want to be hurt any more. She held up her hands placatingly, taking a small step towards him, but no further.

"Your affliction isn't the disease, it's the loneliness that comes with it." She said softly, the same voice she used to use on her horse when he was spooked, "And I don't want that. It's probably already too late for me with the leprosy, we both know it, so stop making excuses and denying me the only human contact I could have. Please."

Sherlock had stopped retreating, staring at her in pained confusion. She reached out again, running a hand gently down his arm and linking hands with his. He stared down at it for a second, then looked back at her and for a second she could see a whole world of emotion through his eyes, before he shut it down, putting back on a collected and controlled mask. He didn't let go of her hand though, in fact she felt him adjust for a better grip, and she was sure she could feel his fingers on her pulse point, reading her.

"Come with me." He said suddenly, leading her by the hand out of the room. She didn't question him, just followed as he led her up through the house, right the way to the attic. Here he let go off her hand to pull the dust sheet off of an object that sat in front of the large circular window at the front of the room, looking out across the landscape. Once it was revealed, the sunlight streaming through the window glinted off a delicately engraved golden telescope, mounted on a dark oak tripod, all set for viewing through.

Sherlock circled, watching her as she examined it, until she met his eye and he nodded to the viewfinder. "Go ahead, look through."

Molly tentatively stepped up to it, having to tiptoe to bring her eye level to it, but not wanting to disturb it's trajectory from what Sherlock wanted her to see. She gasped when she realised what it was she was looking at; the front of the doctors clinic back in Finchley. Even as she watched, Doctor Watson appeared, escorting elderly Mrs Turner out and waving her off, before turning and going back inside. Watching the simple action made Molly's throat ache with longing, missing her life and her friends back home. She pulled back from the scope, trying to blink away the moisture building in her eyes as she looked to Sherlock for an explanation.

"I don't understand... You said you hadn't watched me... Before." She croaked, thinking that if he had been watching the clinic he would have seen her in plenty of occasions.

"Did I?" He asked, causing her to think back and realise he'd never actually said the words, "But no, nice try, but your deduction is lacking some vital information. Look around you."

Molly did as he said, looking around the room. There wasn't really much to see, only a few other mystery items concealed by sheets, and an awful lot of dust. It seemed to be everywhere, on the telescope despite the cover, drifting through the air, visible in the stream of light coming from the window, making the beam seem almost solid. And last but not least, the floor, which was caked to almost an inch deep, except from two very distinct sets of footprints where they'd come up.

"The footprints, in the dust." She spoke her thoughts aloud, and then it clicked, and she looked back at Sherlock. "You haven't been up here in a long time."

Sherlock nodded, laying a hand on the scope, but not putting an eye to it.

"I thought it was a good idea at first; keep my deductive skills sharp, practising on passersby, keep an eye on John to see how he was coping. But instead it made me... Emotional." He spat bitterly, one hand on his chest like he was remembering an ache deep inside. His speech sped up into a rat as his feelings got the better of him "It distracted me and brought me nothing but misery. A useless pastime, that achieved nothing, when I would have been better served staying in my lab and working on a cure, rather than pining away up here like some wretched creature and then going down only to-" he stopped sharply, as if realising how he sounded, and took a deep breath before continuing again, "As I said, it was no good to me, but if it would ease your loneliness to see your friends again, by all means..." He waved to it as he turned away, making a rapid retreat to the stairs.

Molly wanted to call after him, to offer him some sort of comfort, but knew he would hardly appreciate it, alarmed as he was by emotion. Instead, a question burst forth from her before she could stop it, one that had been in the back of her mind for a while, but seemed fitting after all he had told her today.

"How long, Sherlock?" Her voice made him pause, turning to look at her over his shoulder, "How long have you been here?"

"I'm not certain." He confessed, though his voice was devoid of emotion, "How old is John's firstborn?"

Molly's eyes widened as she realised. She should have worked it out herself, but now it was too late, and she'd have to tell him the terrible truth she'd just realised.

"T...Ten. Charlotte is ten." _Ten years_ , he and Mrs Hudson had been alone here.

Sherlock didn't react to the news at all, his face completely blank, no witty comeback on his lips. He blinked a couple of times, turned, and walked away.

 _AN: Woohoo, we've hit the 50 followers mark! Thank you very much all my followers, and a big thanks to the usual suspects for their reviews as well._

 _One of my friends pointed out that this chapter raises a bit of a question about their ages, so thought I'd just explain: In this version of events Dherlock would have been younger as he ran around London with John, around his midtwenties (while John would have been about 30) and was infected at around 27, let's say. Molly would be late teens/early twenties at this point in the story, having been just about old enough to take care of herself when her Dad died. Hope that all makes sense to you guys._

 _See you all Wednesday for the next instalment._


	10. You Had a Problem, More Specifically

**Chapter 10 - You Had A Problem, More Specifically, You Had A Witness**

 _27th September 1867 - Holmes Manor_

Time seemed to fly by, mostly thanks to the fairly full routine Molly had managed to fall into. She would get up early every day to light fires and candelabras, and open windows to air rooms, since Mrs Hudson was insisting she was no longer housekeeper. Since most of the house was still unused, she could usually have these duties done by about 9 o'clock, when she would eat breakfast with Mrs Hudson before taking Sherlock up his morning tea. Once there, she would stay with him most days, serving as his hands to perform scientific experiments he hoped would lead to discovery of a cure. Sometimes she thought he took her being his hands a bit literally, asking her to do stupid little things she was sure he could do himself, such as turning pages in a book he was reading, but she did it anyway.

Mrs Hudson had taken to bringing enough food for Molly as well as Sherlock up for them to nibble through the day, though she was insistent she came down for a proper meal at least once a week, and together they'd bullied Sherlock into it also. In return, Sherlock persistently insisted on Molly washing her hands after coming into contact with him in any way, and Mrs Hudson was kept very busy filling baths for either of them several times a week.

Molly would retire when evening came, sometimes popping up to the attic to check on her friends back in the village, but most of the time simply burying herself in a book she had borrowed from the library. A lot were medical texts, being as Mycroft was in the habit of sending anything he thought might aid his brother's research, and Molly soaked it up. She also found a few articles telling of Sherlock's old adventures as a consulting detective, as told by John Watson, and eagerly read them, marvelling at his genius.

Guiltily she had to admit, if only to herself, that she had fallen for the man, and more than a little. Logically she knew it was a recipe for a broken heart, but feelings had a habit of bypassing logic, and once they had started they were almost impossible to stop from growing. Hers had been steadily growing for some time now, in awe of his mind, tickled by his often sarcastic and morbid humour, achingly sympathetic to his suffering, and even finding him surprisingly good looking, once she was able to see past the symptoms of his sickness.

She was uncertain though of his feelings for her, if he had any. A lot of the time he seemed indifferent, caring only for her as a friend and colleague of sorts. Other times there was... Something. She couldn't put her finger on what, but it was like an extra little twinkle in his eye when she surprised him by preempting his needs in the lab, or when they caught each other's eyes at the feasts Mrs Hudson prepared them, or when she returned his sarcasm. But then there was also days like today...

"For goodness' sake!" He roared, and Molly instinctively ducked as a glass slide shattered against the wall. Not that it was thrown at her, even in his worst tempers he wouldn't, but it startled her none-the-less as tiny bits of glass rebounded and came to a stop near her feet.

"What did the slide ever do to you?" She joked as she retrieved a pan and brush to tidy up, attempting to lighten his foul mood. Sherlock just scowled at her though.

"Don't make jokes Molly, perhaps if you devoted more of your albeit limited brain capacity to your duties rather than futile attempts at humour, I'd stand more chance of making progress!"

Molly chose to ignore this, having developed a fairly thick skin in the months of working closely with him. She emptied the pan into the rubbish, and started making up a fresh slide for him, but this just angered him more.

"Why are you making another slide? Why would I want another slide when clearly I was finished with the last one? How am I supposed to work when I'm surrounded by such incompetence?"

Molly calmly put the things away again, then pulled over a chair to sit directly opposite him.

"Something wrong with the delivery that came in this morning?" She asked, deciphering his words about being 'surrounded with incompetence' to find the root of his temper. She knew she was right when he didn't hold her gaze, turning his head away and flapping with his dressing gown. He wouldn't apologise for taking it out on her, but to Molly these guilty ticks said it loud enough.

"Mycroft's usual lackey must be on temporary leave, she would never have made an error like this. The moron standing in for her forgot to pack my usual supply of _Euphrasia officinalis._ "

"Euphrasia?" Molly racked her brain for a second, trying to find the bells the name was ringing somewhere, "You mean eyebright?"

"Yes, I believe that's the common term for it." He said, momentarily shocked out of his mood by her knowledge, although it didn't last long, "But anyway, its absence is completely unacceptable, do they not realise how great the risk of developing eye infections leading to blindness is with leprosy? My eyes are far too important to my work, I can't take any risks, I have to take the best care of them possible!" The rate of his deliberate blinks was speeding up, like a nervous tick in fear of anything being in his eye that he couldn't feel. Molly's heart lurched in sympathy for him, and she wanted to put a comforting hand on his arm, but knew better.

"Sherlock, it's okay." She said gently instead, "I know where some grows, not far from here, I can get it for you if you need me to."

"You do? How? Where? Is it in the grounds?" He shot questions at her like arrows.

"Well, no, but it's not too far, I used to be able to see the manor from there, back when..." She trailed off, unsure how she wanted to finish that sentence, so tried for another, "Doctor Watson used to send me to fetch some sometimes, he used it on his patients."

Sherlock's fingers tented in front of his lips as he thought about it.

"Risky..." He muttered.

"It's unlikely I'll run into anyone, there's not any other reason for anyone to be up there and... And you know, people don't like coming that close to... Here." Molly explained.

"And you won't try to run away again?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.

Molly's jaw dropped slightly, shocked and hurt that he would have to ask. Several opportunities had come and gone, and she hadn't even thought about taking them.

"You still don't trust me?" She asked.

"The desire for freedom is a powerful thing." Sherlock answered, an eyebrow raised, challenging her to disagree.

"I promise, I won't try anything." She assured him instead, "I'll just go, get the herb, and be back before you have a chance to miss me."

"Why would I miss you?" He reflexively dismissed the idea of emotion, a reaction Molly was getting well used to.

"You won't, because I'll be back."

 _Meanwhile - The Watson's House - Finchley_

Mary was sitting in the armchair in front of the fire, darning a sock, when her husband came over from his clinic across the road. She frowned at the clock, seeing it wasn't even lunchtime yet, and wondering what had him coming back so early.

"Everything okay?" She asked as he stepped into the room, sweeping his flat cap off, but not removing his shoes.

"Yes, yes, just popping over to ask a favour really. I'm getting rather low on medicinal herbs at the clinic, and was hoping you wouldn't mind terribly going out and picking some up for me. I always borrowed Molly from Mike for it before but... Well, you know." A shadow fell over his features as he thought of the poor girl, who hadn't been heard from in months. Even the police had given up the active search, Lestrade had told him over a pint the week before.

"Yes, of course, do you have a list, or shall I just grab what I can find?" Mary asked, glad for a chance to get out of the house, other than to walk Charlotte to school. She wasn't really built for sitting around and being domestic, but motherhood had its duties.

"Yes, I have a list, hold on..." He dug through his pockets, eventually finding it in the inner pocket of his jacket, and handing it over "Don't worry if you can't find it all, I can always get some from the market. And take care of yourself, okay?" He pecked her on the cheek.

"Yeah of course." She said, putting on her cloak and shoes.

"I mean it, don't stray too far from the road if you can avoid it, and -"

She put a finger over his lips to shush him, though his concern for her made her smile, it was clear he was worrying again over Molly.

"I know, love, don't worry so much. You know I can take care of myself far better than little Molly could. And they never did prove foul play, she could have run off with a handsome stranger." It was a futile comfort, even Mary didn't believe it, and her husband certainly didn't. His face was that of a soldier, who knew too well the horrors of the world.

"Right, just... I'll see you later. Have you got the list?" He checked again as they walked out together. She laughed and held it up with a raised eyebrow, before saying goodbye again and parting ways.

It was slightly chilly out, but Mary pulled her cloak tight around her and soon warmed up as she walked, the first leaves of autumn crunching under her feet. It was probably the last opportunity this year for picking many of the herbs on John's list, so she made sure to pick a large amount where she found them. She had mentally ticked off most the list and was on her way to one of the last when she heard the rustle of undergrowth. She paused in her step to listen, ascertaining that the movement was not following or coming towards her, rather, it sounded like another forager. She carried on, her ears now picking up a woman's voice humming in a vaguely familiar way. When she rounded the bushes obscuring her view however, her eyes fell on the last person she expected to see, freezing her on the spot.

"Molly?"

Molly's head shot up, looking equally shocked to see her.

"Mary!" She returned, getting to her feet and stuffing the handful of herbs she held into her bag. She looked well, dressed in far nicer clothes than Mary had ever seen her in, but there was something wrong with the way she was looking at her. It wasn't the happy recognition of a woman seeing a friend she hadn't seen in a long time, rather it was a look of fear. This was confirmed in Mary's mind when she stepped towards her, and Molly stepped back also, nearly tripping on a root in her haste to get away.

"No... No you can't come any closer. It's not safe for you!" Molly all but pleaded with her, holding out her hands to ward Mary off as she backed further away.

"What? What do you mean it's not safe? Molly what's wrong? Let me help you." Mary tried again, taking another slow step forward.

"I'm fine, please, just...just stay away." Molly glanced over her shoulder as she said it, and Mary followed her gaze to what could be seen through the trees of the dreaded beast's mansion. "Forget you ever saw me, please, and... and don't try to come looking for me."

"Molly... Molly wait!" Mary called after her, as her friend turned and fled back towards the manor. For a second, Mary considered chasing her, but thought better of it. If Molly was right that it would be dangerous for her, it wouldn't do to go in unprepared. Forgetting about the herbs she had came to this spot to pick, Mary turned and started to make her way back to town to tell her husband what she had seen, picking up speed as she went. By the time she made it back to town she was full out running, and didn't see Jimmy Gaston crossing the square until she ran into him.

"Whoa, steady there, Mrs Watson." He smiled, steadying her own her on her feet, then stepping back and dusting himself off. "What's got you in such a hurry, hmm? Why, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Molly. I've seen Molly." Mary gasped out, panting for breath. "Up by the Beast's manor, she was gathering herbs, but she was afraid of... Something. She said something about it not being safe... I need to tell John, excuse me, I'm sorry for crashing into you." She said over her shoulder as she started to hastily walk towards the clinic.

"Don't mention it." Jimmy said, a thoughtful expression on his face. This new development was interesting, very interesting. He would have to investigate further.

 _That Evening - Holmes Manor_

When Molly finally retired to her room that night, she felt as if a lead weight had settled in her stomach, a dread over what was to come after her encounter with Mary that morning. Sherlock had grilled her on the event when she told him, wanting to know every detail, every precise word that was said. He'd then instructed her and Mrs Hudson to open strategic curtains downstairs and pull others tight, extinguishing all the fires and lamps, leaving them nothing but a lantern each to light their way around the dark halls. He'd disappeared for some time to the attic, presumably to watch the ripples her encounter had caused in the village, before joining them again, ushering them quietly up to the library, as someone pounded on the door below. They'd hid there, extinguishing their lamps so no light would show as they risked a peek out the window, seeing the lamps below of the local police force, circling the building and peering in windows. Only when they had left did Molly dare speak, and even then in a whisper.

"Is that it? I mean... Will they leave us alone now?"

"The police will, they won't waste manpower making trips to a supposedly abandoned building because a witness suspects it might be where a missing girl is." Sherlock answered at his normal volume, easing the curtains shut plunging them into completely darkness for a second before he lit his lantern. "But John and Mary will be another matter."

"Oh, John can be like a dog with a bone, he always was if there was someone needing help." Mrs Hudson chipped in.

"So what do we do?" Molly asked, looking to Sherlock for some other clever plan.

"We'll have to leave. I have other bolt holes, perhaps not as nice, but what does one need seventeen bedrooms for after all? I'll send a missive to Mycroft with the next delivery so he can make the arrangements."

Molly's heart sank. She had grown attached to this house, and silly as it was, she didn't want to have to go any further from her friends. But if it had to be done, to protect them...

"Will it be soon enough? What if John comes tomorrow?"

"Then we'll deal with it tomorrow. Leave now, I need to think."

"He's right, nothing we can do now, and worrying never did anyone any good. Best get some rest." Mrs Hudson generously translated, walking out with Molly.

But not worrying was easier said than done, Molly thought, sitting down on her bed and untying her shoes, slipping one off, but finding the other strangely difficult to remove. Once she got it off she stared for a few seconds in confusion at the huge thorn that had pierced all the way through the sole of her shoe and into her foot, that apparently she'd been walking around on all day without noticing, if the dried circles of blood on her sock and inner sole were anything to go by.

A fresh dread washed over her as she leaned over and grabbed a hair pin from her dressing table, poking her foot at various intervals to see how far the numbness had spread. About half way up the foot she found feeling again, and it was the same on the other side. Her hands shook as she dropped the pin down on the bed, tears filling her eyes as she admitted to herself what this meant; she had caught the disease, she was now a leper too. She had fooled herself that it wouldn't happen to her, since it hadn't to Mrs Hudson, but now she realised she had been foolish and naive and Sherlock had been right.

She couldn't tell him though, not yet, not after everything else that had happened today. When they had left him in the library he looked to be settling in for a long night thinking in his armchair, she should be able to treat her wound in the lab without him noticing, so long as she cleaned up after herself, and she could tell him when their current situation was dealt with. Until then it would be her secret, her problem.

 _AN: Buckle up and brace yourselves guys, the manure has hit the windmill! This is where things start to get interesting, and I make no promises about how much worse things are going to get before they get better. I know I'm enjoying myself up here, how about you guys? Nice to meet all you new followers too._


	11. Remember the First Dance We Shared

**Chapter 11 - Remember The First Dance We Shared**

 _28th September 1867 - Holmes Manor_

Molly felt like she had barely just got to sleep after a long restless night of worrying, when Mrs Hudson bustled into her room, laden with cleaning supplies.

"Come on dear, up you get, we've got lots of work to do this morning." She said, depositing the buckets and mops on the floor and disappearing into Molly's wardrobe, pulling out some clothes for her to wear as Molly swung her legs down from the bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Sherlock wants the whole house cleaned from top to bottom, with hot water and everything. He said something about killing _bacteria_ , but I don't know anything about that, that's science talk, better left to you bright young things. There we go, I'll see you downstairs, I have water on the boil for cleaning, and a spot of tea of course."

Molly blinked, waking herself up enough to absorb the words as Mrs Hudson left so she could dress. If they were trying to kill any bacteria in the house he must still be expecting John to come, Molly thought. He must have some kind of plan, and she'd have to ask him about it when she got the chance.

That wasn't to be for some time though, as Mrs Hudson barely gave her a chance to finish her tea and eat a slice of toast before sending her off with a bucket of boiling water, a mop and some rags, to start on the top floor. Sherlock was supposedly above her in the attic again, following events in the village, but she couldn't hear any footsteps up there.

It took her most of the day to thoroughly clean the top two floors of the house, making regular trips to the water closet to throw out used water, and boiling more on the fireplaces in the rooms she worked. At one point she wondered what the point was in cleaning rooms she doubted Sherlock had ever ventured into, but she had to guiltily admit that she had, and she was as bad as him now. But whether her cleaning them would make them better or worse she wasn't sure, so she used the water as hot as she could bear it, washing her hands at regular intervals as well to be safe.

Finally she gave all her used clothes to Mrs Hudson, who added them to a mountain like pile of hers and Sherlock's, before using the shower. Since the clothes she usually wore in her wardrobe better suited to a maid were all in the wash, she put on one of the beautiful gowns she had never worn before, a full-skirted golden yellow number, with off the shoulder straps and a pair of matching gloves that completed the outfit, and would also serve to protect the clean house from her.

Feeling a little overdressed, she made her way down to the kitchen to join Mrs Hudson for their usual dinner, but when she got down to the kitchen the older woman was still at work at the mangle, and didn't appear to be stopping any time soon.

"Don't worry about me, I'll grab something later." Mrs Hudson assured her. "Oh, but you could take something up and eat with Sherlock, perhaps? I don't think he's moved from that window all day, probably won't all night unless someone gives him a nudge."

Molly giggled at Mrs Hudson's evaluation of Sherlock's behaviour, chatting a little longer to her as she made up some soup, leaving some simmering on the stove for Mrs Hudson as she took two bowls on a tray up to the attic. She found Sherlock hunched over the telescope, his long hair obscuring his face as he looked through it at the goings on in the village. She wasn't sure if he'd heard her come up, so cleared her throat to get his attention.

"You don't need to broadcast your presence to me, I assure you I knew you were coming when you set foot on the staircase. The second step creaks." He said without looking up.

"Anything interesting happening out there?" Molly inquired, coming to stand closer.

"Lestrade and John are arguing outside the police station. I can't see enough to lip read, but it's clear John thinks Lestrade should have done more to search this mansion, and Lestrade's hands are tied by procedure. They brought Mary back out to the point she saw you earlier, while John was at work, and have been searching in other directions from that point. It's tempting to arrange for some false evidence to be planted to lead them away. I bet Mycroft could procure a body that bears enough of a resemblance to you."

"No," Molly answered, deciding it was best not to ask how, "I can't do that to them..."

"There are worse things that could happen to them." Sherlock responded, turning away from the telescope to raise an eyebrow at her. He noticed the food in her hands as he did. "You can put that down somewhere, no point you standing there holding it, I'll eat when I'm ready."

"Okay." Molly said, looking around for somewhere to put it. One of the sheet covered shapes looked like it could be an end table, albeit with something on it, so she made her way over to it and pulled the sheet off with one hand. There was the twang of strings and then a loud cacophonous crash as the object on the table was pulled off with it.

"Careful with that!" Sherlock snapped, his eyes wide with concern as he rushed over, reverently picking up the violin and checking it over.

"I'm sorry!" Molly rushed to apologise, as she put the tray down on the table instead "Is that yours? I mean, do you play?"

"I used to." Sherlock said emotionlessly as he also checked the bow, pointing it out in front of him like a sword, then twisting the end to adjust it.

"Why don't you anymore? I mean... Your hands aren't that bad sometimes."

"It's not the same... I can't _feel_ it." He explained, though he ran the bow across the strings anyway, generating a long drawn out, if slightly out of tune, note. Molly all but held her breath, not wanting to break his concentration as he proceeded to tune it by ear, then started the piece again. His fingers seemed to effortlessly find their positions, despite his assertion, producing a beautiful melody that held Molly in thrall. It only lasted a few minutes however, until he made a mistake, the dissonant note hanging in the air for less than a second before he angrily stilled the strings, pulling the instrument away from his shoulder.

"As I said... I used to." He repeated, setting the instrument down.

"I think you were brilliant." Molly tried to comfort him, but was met by a disbelieving sneer. "I mean it, the song was beautiful... I don't think I've heard it before."

"Of course you haven't. I wrote it." He informed her, turning back to his telescope.

"Oh! That's... That's amazing. I'd love to hear the rest of it sometime. I mean, perhaps not on violin... Well, maybe when you're better, or... Never mind." Molly trailed off, thinking she was being unrealistic or insensitive to expect such a thing from him, and stirred her soup with a spoon to cool it instead to occupy herself.

She was shocked when she heard from behind her the starting notes echoed again, in Sherlock's deep baritone, as he started to hum the melody. The effect was quite different to when he had played it on violin, but equally mesmerising. She couldn't help turning to look, finding his eyes fixed on her, causing her to blush and look at her feet. She concentrated on the tune, set in three-four time, and found herself starting to move to it, to sway as her feet shuffled in a pale imitation of a waltz.

She was so busy looking at her feet she didn't notice him coming closer until he was right in front of her, her eyes snapping up sharply to his face as he took her hand in his and laid his other arm around her shoulders, taking the lead in her waltz and spinning her around the room as he sang.

Molly's heart thudded in her chest as they danced, hardly daring to believe what was happening and what it might mean. She held back from asking why he was daring to close the distance between them now when he was always so careful about contact with her, realising she knew the answer; her gloves, preventing then touching skin to skin. Even if she wasn't reluctant to break the trance of his song, she knew she couldn't confess to him now that it was unnecessary, the damage was truly already done. Instead she tried to pretend it wasn't true, that neither of them were ill, if just for this one moment - that was how she wanted to remember it.

Unbeknownst to the dancing couple, they were not without an audience. Sherlock's eye hadn't been on the village handyman as he watched the town that day, but Moriarty's eyes were now on him as he waltzed past the big window, silhouetted in the lanterns light with Molly. Crouched down in the bushes outside the gates, Moriarty seethed at what he was seeing. This was not how it was supposed to be! Sherlock was supposed to be lonely and suffering in his exile, that was why Moriarty had allowed him to live even after realising his suicide had been fake. He wasn't supposed to be happily dancing away with a girl, especially not one who had been his. Moriarty hadn't much cared what had happened to the girl after her disappearance, but her cavorting with Sherlock was completely unacceptable.

Thankfully though, it gave Moriarty an idea for how to take Sherlock down for good, and once he did he would also have to have Molly, just to make a point. She could live miserably ever after as his trophy wife, he decided. Grinning manically as he built up the plan in his mind, he slipped away, making haste back to the village, while Sherlock was otherwise occupied from watching.

 _The Rose and Crown - Finchley_

"First round on me?" John offered cordially to Lestrade as they strolled into the more-crowded-than-usual public house. He'd cooled down significantly from their heated argument earlier in the evening, after going home to dinner with his wife and daughter. Mary was good for him, Lestrade had always thought, a calming voice of reason when he needed it.

And it certainly seemed like this crowd could use a few more Marys, was his next thought, as snippets of conversations around the pub filtered into his ears. Molly had always been well enough liked around the town, though many found her an awkward conversationalist, but she'd never been as popular as she seemed to be right now, many people singing her praises and lamenting that she hadn't been recovered yet. One voice rose above the others, and Lestrade turned to see Jimmy Gaston climbing up onto a bench to be better heard by the crowds.

"For years we've heard of travellers snatched up by the beast, we've known what a terrible creature we've had lurking on our doorstep." Jimmy was saying, "And yet we've sat idly by, lulled into a sense of security that he'd never stray to close to the town lights. And now he has finally taken one of our own, should we be surprised?! I'm not saying I blame our brave young men down at the police station, I'm sure they've been doing the best their job allows them to." He tipped his hat in Lestrade's direction, and seeing the faces of the crown turn to him, Lestrade raised the pint John had just given him in acknowledgement.

"Really, I blame myself." Jimmy continued, "I should never have allowed my dear, dear Molly to go on such a trip alone, especially past such a dangerous place. It breaks my heart to think of any harm that might have come to her. Until now I lived in the hope, that perhaps she was somewhere safe, that it was simply her choice not to return to me, as that would at least be better than believing her unable to. But now I know the truth! I have seen her with my own two eyes, held captive and tormented by the Beast!"

The murmuring of the crowd grew louder at this, outraged cries filling the air, and John and Lestrade exchanged a look.

"Did you know about this?" John asked in surprise.

"First I'm hearing about it." Lestrade muttered, before getting to his feet and calling back over the crowds "When did you see this? My men went and searched the grounds yesterday, and the house was by all appearances empty."

"By all appearances, of course, that's what he wanted you to think." Gaston replied, not seeming put out by Lestrade's question at all, rather egged on by it. "He may be a beast in appearance but his mind is as sharp as any human, nay, sharper. He must have known of her escape attempt, of the fact she was seen and known you were coming, and prepared for it. Who knows what horrid dungeon he locked her in to prevent her screams for help being heard? Who knows what tortures he punished her with for the risk she took to expose him? I only got a glimpse through the topmost window of the house, and what I saw I shudder to remember!" He truly had the crowd going now, with gasps and cries punctuating his sentences, a riot mob in the making. "Her bravery must not go unrewarded, she cannot be abandoned to the suffering he has planned for her! Are there any men here brave enough, and strong enough to help me to kill the Beast and save our beloved Molly?"

A sudden hush descended, as everybody looked around, waiting for someone else to volunteer. It seemed while they were all in agreement about what needed to be done, no one was actually brave enough to go up against the dreaded Beast. Lestrade saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, and was simultaneously surprised and not surprised to see John Watson standing up and meeting Gaston's eye with a nod, to the tumultuous applause of the crowd. Lestrade though was not so pleased, and caught John's arm as he went to walk past.

"John, what are you doing?" He asked in a low voice, keeping his face tilted away from the crowd, "You can't seriously be thinking about killing this... Man-beast based on hearsay, are you? What about a trial? What about justice? What about your Hippocratic oath? Doesn't that say something about doing no harm?"

"Not exactly. And besides, I think I'm well past that having been a soldier, or did you forget that side of me?" John replied, though he also kept his voice low and private. "I don't know about killing this Beast, I guess I'll see what feels right when we face him, but what I do know, is that I can't stand idly by and lose another friend. Not again, not when I can do something about it."

They held each other's gazes, and Lestrade knew that John was thinking of Sherlock again, of the old friend neither of them talked about, but could never forget. John was right, they couldn't let Molly fall into the same category, so he let go of John's arm and nodded, watching as he marched up to Gaston.

"I'll go." He heard John say, "When do we leave?"

"Not yet." Gaston replied, laying a hand on John's arm in gratitude and solidarity, "Right now the Beast is probably expecting an attack, he is prepared, and we aren't. We need to turn the tables first. Just you wait, I'll set things in motion, and when it's time, I'll come to you and together, we'll kill this beast."

 _AN: Hold on to this happy moment of them dancing, things are about to go downhill fast. ;)_

 _Thanks to LRRH17, 2 Guests, spidermse, elbafo and Soaring Heart the Pegasus for your reviews :)_


	12. We'll Lay Seige to His Castle

**Chapter 12 - We'll Lay Siege to His Castle**

 _3rd October 1867 - Holmes Manor_

The next few days had ebbed and flowed in tense expectation and hopeful relief. Very little more seemed to be happening in the village now, her sighting apparently becoming old news, and even Sherlock tired of watching and waiting, resuming his research in his lab, with Molly's assistance of course.

Their relationship also seemed to have resumed its usual pace. After their dance, Molly had hoped there might be something there that wasn't there before between them, but it seemed Sherlock had other ideas, treating her exactly the same as he always had, as though nothing had happened. It was all Molly could do to follow his lead, and share her woes on the subject with Mrs Hudson.

"...and then just when I'm starting to think it's all silly romantic daydreams on my part, he goes and says or does something that gets me wondering again. Yesterday I was determined to keep such notions out of my head as I worked with him, and the second I walked in he commented on my hair, saying he liked it when I wore it up the way it was, and I was right back to having that fluttering sensation in my stomach when he looked at me. But the rest of the day he was his usual dismissive self, and I don't know what to think. Has he ever... Have you ever seen him court anyone before? As a frame of reference?" Molly asked, feeling slightly embarrassed for her prying.

"Not that I know of." Mrs Hudson shook her head, taking small nibbles of her breakfast, "Not unless you count that thing with Irene, he was much more direct then, but it wasn't real of course."

"Hmm... I'm beginning to see how she could get so vexed at him."

"You don't mean that." Mrs Hudson clucked.

"No, of course I don't I just... I'm just frustrated is all. I'll soon be past prime marrying age, and if I'm to be stuck here for... Goodness knows how long... And he is too, it seems only natural that we'd... " She trailed off, her excuses sounding ridiculous to even her own ears.

"I don't think he's resigned himself to that quite yet, love." Mrs Hudson replied "Being stuck here I mean. Years can pass and he'll still believe he'll have it figured out and be out of here by next week. It's what keeps him sane, I think. Well... More or less."

Molly smiled, deciding it was time to let the subject drop. What would be with Sherlock would be, she just had to wait and see. Finishing their breakfast, Molly took their plates to the wash basin, washing away the crumbs as Mrs Hudson retrieved her keys from a drawer to fetch in the week's delivery that was due. Molly wiped her hands on a hand towel and followed Mrs Hudson out as she unlocked the door, but they both stopped in puzzlement upon seeing this weeks empty basket still sitting on the step where the fresh one should be, Sherlock's letter to his brother still sitting inside it waiting to be delivered.

"Oh how peculiar, they've never been late before." Mrs Hudson exclaimed, looking around as if expecting the courier to be hiding around the corner with the fresh supplies.

"There's a first time for everything." Molly tried to be positive. "Perhaps they've just been held up by something. The wind was howling something terrible last night, perhaps it brought a tree down in the road."

"You're probably right." Mrs Hudson agreed, though still looking anxious. "Though perhaps we should tell Sherlock, just in case..."

"No need to worry him unnecessarily." Molly replied, aware that it was becoming a habit of hers, keeping secrets so as not to worry him, "I'll just go check the telescope, see if I can't see them coming up the way."

She went up to the attic, finding she couldn't get the right angle to see down the delivery road, and so carefully brought telescope down into one of the bedrooms below, taking some time to set it back up before she could look through. When she did a fresh dread washed over her, spotting the carriage ran off the road into a ditch but a mile away, the driver hanging limply from his seat, clearly dead, and another body laying in the road next to it. Molly staggered back away from the view, a hand covering her mouth open in a silent scream, and tears starting to fill her eyes. Without hesitation she ran down to Sherlock's lab, finding him impatiently moving beakers around as he waited for her.

"Ah, there you - where are my supplies?"

"You need to come see this." Molly told him, taking big breaths trying to keep herself calm, and catch her breath from running down. Sherlock seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation, his brow furrowing as he got quickly to his feet, silently waving her to lead the way.

His countenance remained calmly composed, even as he looked in the scope, twisting a few knobs to bring the image into sharper focus. Molly waited anxiously by him, subconsciously chewing her nails, until she couldn't take his silence anymore.

"Well? Who... Who could have done this? What does it mean?"

"It means there'll be no running away now. The game is well and truly afoot." To Molly's surprise, Sherlock was grinning, his eyes sparkling in excitement as he pulled away from the scope, "They've even added some very... Creative touches, making it look like some kind of animal, or _Beast_ , no doubt for the town-folk's benefit. I can think of only one person with the ingenuity and motive for something like this."

"Moriarty?" Molly whispered, as though saying the name any louder could summon him, like some kind of demon.

"Moriarty." Sherlock agreed.

"What do we do?" Molly tried to take courage in Sherlock's confident smile, but somehow it only made her more anxious, knowing she was caught in the middle of a war between two brilliant and ruthless minds, and anything could happen.

"Nothing, for now. He's trying to draw us out, or weaken us by cutting off our supplies. We mustn't give in to him. We still have some seasonal vegetables in the vegetable patch, we might have to tighten our belts for a little while, and Mrs Hudson won't be cooking any feasts any time soon - not a great loss in my books - , but if we ration our supplies correctly, we can outlast him." Sherlock reasoned confidently.

"To what end?" Molly murmured fearfully, "This can't be his whole plan, can it? Something bigger is coming... What will we do then?"

"By then, I'll have a brilliant plan." He beamed at her, "Go, tell Mrs Hudson the situation, before she makes a start on dinner." He lowered himself into an armchair in the corner of the room and tented his fingers before his chin, settling down to think. Molly knew better than to ask questions when he retreated to his mind like this, and let herself out to do as he said.

The next wave of the attack came three days later, or nights rather, as it was the middle of the night that Molly awoke with the sense that something was wrong. As she gradually emerged from the fog of sleep, awareness of what had woken her trickled in; Sherlock was shouting, seeming to get farther away. The smell of smoke assaulted her nostrils, and she sat bolt upright, her head whipping around for the source. An orangey light flicked behind her curtains, and she hurried over, pulling them back to reveal the source of the trouble.

The gardens were burning, low level flames eating their way through the vegetable patch, the bedding hay serving as excellent kindling. As she watched, the back door flew open, Sherlock followed by Mrs Hudson flying out, buckets in hand, silhouetted against the flames as they threw their water down in an attempt to extinguish the blaze.

Molly didn't wait around to see any more, hurrying to put on her shoes and rush down to join them, not bothering to change out of her sleepwear; decency be damned. She grabbed the largest pot she could from the kitchen, since the buckets were already in use, and filled it, struggling to lift it when it was full, but making a valiant effort. Sherlock appeared at her side this moment, moving faster than she'd ever seen him, as if he didn't have a limp at all. He dropped his own bucket and grabbed the other side of the pot, helping her carry it out.

"Here, pour it around the edge of the patch, we need to soak the ground, prevent the spread." He directed.

"What about the vegetables?" Molly asked, peering into the flames to see a pumpkin turned almost completely black, tendrils of fire licking up its sides.

"It's too late for them, but if we don't get this under control it could reach the house."

They emptied the pot and turned back, seeing Mrs Hudson coming towards them with another bucket, but it slipped from her hands as she doubled over, coughing from the smoke.

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouted over the crackling of the fire, hurrying to her side, reaching out as though to steady her, before thinking better of it, pulling his hands away. Mrs Hudson shook her head, waving him off anyway.

"I'm okay..." She insisted, reaching down for her dropped bucket, but Sherlock scooped it up instead.

"This is inefficient, we need a bucket line." Sherlock said decisively, "Mrs Hudson, you man the well, draw the water and pass it to Molly, Molly you run the full buckets to me and take empty ones back. Go, now, both of you!"

With that he ran the other way with the half filled bucket in his hand, and the women took up their positions, soon falling into a good rhythm passing buckets back and forth. Molly kept a close eye on both her friends as she worked, fearing for Mrs Hudson over-exerting herself, and Sherlock standing so close to the flames, but both seemed to manage.

By the time the pink glow of the sun starting its ascent appeared on the horizon, they'd managed to beat the fire down to just a few glowing embers in the completely blackened vegetable patch. Sherlock held up a hand, silently signalling that their labour was done, and the three gathered around the edge, looking grimly at the devastation and not looking much better themselves; their faces blackened with soot, legs splashed with mud and clothes soaked in sweat. After a moment to catch his breath, Sherlock picked up a stick, poking experimentally at an unrecognisable piece of vegetable, and watching it crumble to nothing.

"How much food is left in the larder?" He solemnly asked Mrs Hudson.

"A basket of vegetables I gathered this morning, some dried cured meat, and a little flour and oil for bread." Mrs Hudson tiredly listed off "Not much, barely a weeks worth between the three of us, and that's being frugal."

"Then frugal we shall be, and pray Mycroft sent a second delivery after the first was intercepted."

"And if that gets intercepted too? And the next?" Molly said in a small voice. She wasn't usually so pessimistic, but the night had worn on her, and hopeless tears rolled down her cheeks.

Sherlock stared at her, his lips parting to respond, but closing again with no comfort to give. He looked away, then cleared his throat, before speaking.

"You ladies should go in, get some rest and freshen yourselves up." He directed.

"What are you going to do?" Molly asked, as Mrs Hudson murmured grateful thanks and hobbled back to her kitchen.

"I'm going to check on my beehives." He replied, his voice heavy with weariness, as he gestured towards another part of the garden "It has been a while since I have, if Moriarty didn't get to them there should be a decent amount of honey in there, and the smoke from the fire should have them nice and sedate already."

Molly nodded, too tired for words, and made her way back into the house, not looking back lest she despair at the sight. She tidied herself up the best she could with a washcloth, and then collapsed into bed, falling asleep instantly despite the worry churning in her gut.

The week wore on, no supplies arriving and their stocks running dangerously low. Tonight would be the last meal Mrs Hudson could scrape from their current supplies, before they'd have to find another source. It wouldn't have even lasted as long as it had, had Sherlock not been declining his portions, claiming he wasn't hungry even though the women could hear his stomach growling in protest.

It wasn't that Mycroft hadn't attempted to send more, but those supply wagons had met the same end as the first, even the one with an armed guard escorting it. This also served its purpose to rile up the people of Finchley and the other surrounding towns even more against the Beast. The town square had always been filled with people; merchants selling their wares on street corners, children playing in the street. Now though it seemed deserted, people rushing to spend as little time exposed outside as possible, and keeping their doors firmly bolted. Only John Watson could regularly be seen out and about, making house calls on those too afraid to come down to the clinic. Even then he walked with a straight spine, a soldier waiting to spring into action when required, and a sharp eye could make out the shape of a pistol tucked into his waistband.

That detail, of course, was too distant to make out from the telescope at Holmes Manor, if anyone was looking. Currently no one was, Sherlock being busy in his lab, and the women gathered in the kitchen, one slice of stale bread between them, with the last morsel of honey spread upon it.

"I'll talk to him today. I know where some edible plants and berries grow, and there's a stream not far from here, I might be able to get some fish even." Molly suggested as she cut the bread in half and took her piece.

"Oo, fish does sound good right now." Mrs Hudson agreed, deciding the tea had had long enough to brew, and pouring them each a cup before taking her portion of the bread "But are you sure it's wise, after what happened last time? And that was before Moriarty was lurking about, causing trouble."

"What choice do we have? Sit here and starve? Sherlock is halfway there already."

As if on cue, there was an indistinct shout upstairs from the man.

"Was that your name or mine?" Molly asked, getting to her feet ready to go to him.

"I think it was both. We'll find out soon enough, sounds like he's on his way down." Mrs Hudson pointed out, as the footsteps above them headed in the direction of the stairs. Molly hovered, still unsure if she should just go up to save him the trouble, but Mrs Hudson seemed content to wait, picking up her tea and blowing on it to cool it down a little more before drinking it.

"Molly! Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called again, this time from the ground floor. Molly went and opened the kitchen door, just in time as Sherlock lurched through. His eyes, surrounded by dark bags, widened looking at Mrs Hudson, and before they knew it he had knocked the teacup out of her hand, splashing them both in the hot liquid.

"Sherlock! What-?"

"Did you drink any? Have you drank anything this morning?" Sherlock demanded to know, snatching up the kettle and giving the contents a sniff, before pouring both it and Molly's cup down the drain.

"No, I didn't get a chance. Why, what's going on?" Mrs Hudson asked, wiping her hands off on her apron and picking up the cup and tutting at the chip in it.

"Our water supply had been poisoned. Cyanide, I suspect, I haven't finished testing it yet."

Both women gasped at the news and their close escape.

"What will we do?" "How did you know?" They asked at the same time.

Sherlock took a seat at the table with them, and his stomach growled again at the smell of food. Without hesitation Molly put the measly remainder of her bread back on the plate and pushed it towards him. He hesitated, looking into Molly's eyes to check she was sure, and then snatched it up hungrily, wolfing it down in one bite.

"I've been testing the water every morning since he first started cutting off our supplies," he explained, licking the remnants of sticky honey from his fingers. "It was his logical next move. If I'm correct and it is cyanide, then it should naturally break down and our water will be safe again in a couple of days, assuming he doesn't simply poison it again."

"A couple of days!" Molly exclaimed, "We can't all go without food _and_ water for a couple of days."

"No, we can't." Sherlock agreed.

"Isn't there anything you can do, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking at him with complete trust.

Sherlock sighed, giving a vague nod. "I can distill and filter some water, make it safe to drink, but it'll take time, and won't produce huge amounts: enough to keep us alive but not necessarily satisfied. As for the food... " His eyes fell on Molly "We're at the mercy of the land outside the gates."

 _AN: Things are certainly getting exciting now. Over the 75 mark now with followers, thank you all for sharing this adventure with me, and special thanks to Guest, Bella Cuore, spidermse, Soarinng Heart the Pegasus and elbafo for reviews, especially elbafo who went back and watched the Disney version to pick up all my little nods to it. A batch of imaginary cookie to whoever spots the little nod to a character in this chapter. And see you all Sunday for the next one, where the action really happens!_


	13. The Game is Afoot

**Chapter 13 - The Game is Afoot**

 _10th October 1867 - Holmes Manor_

It had been decided; Molly was to venture out, several short trips, not too far from the safety of the house, and bring back what food and fresh water she could carry. Mrs Hudson had been disapproving of the plan, concerned for Molly's safety and not wanting her to end up like the men Mycroft had sent to bring them supplies, but Sherlock had assured her that wouldn't happen.

"If Moriarty wanted any of us dead he would have done it by now. He would have set fire to the house rather than just the garden, he would have poisoned the water first, rather than waiting for later when he knew I'd be looking for it. There's still more to his plan, and he's not going to kill off anyone he thinks can still be of use to him."

His words had been confident and sure at the time, but now, as Molly helped him bring the telescope down to the first floor balcony where he could keep an eye on her as she foraged, she could see the signs of his worry setting in, mostly in the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see.

"Everything okay?" She asked softly, as he adjusted the view and polished the lens once more. He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice, validating her concern.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." He said quickly, "Are you fine? Are you...are you sure you still want to do this, because you know it... It could be dangerous."

Molly found herself smiling at his concern, the proof that he really did care about her, at least in some ways.

"I'll be fine. You'll be up here watching over me, and you said Moriarty won't want to kill me anyway-"

"Just because he won't kill you doesn't mean he wouldn't _hurt_ you. He'd kidnap you, he'd torture you, he'd cut off non-essential parts to send to me in a box, he'd do whatever he wants with you, to get to me. Having my eye on you is as much provocation as protection. Do you understand?" He asked sharply.

Molly nodded, solemnly, her mouth suddenly running dry. The possibility had crossed her mind, of course, but hearing Sherlock confirm it was a very different thing. He tongue darted out to moisten her lips before she mustered herself up to speak.

"What choice do we have?"

"I don't know." Sherlock bitterly replied, his eyes scanning the horizon rather than looking at her. "I used to play this game on a daily basis, I never doubted myself, I was always certain in my ability to win out at the end of the day. But it's been a long time, and much as I hate to admit it, I'm out of practise. And Moriarty knows it, already he has me on my back foot. I always do my best thinking on an empty stomach, but never this empty, no, this gnawing hunger is impairing my ability to think, and I'm sure I'm missing... Something."

"Like what?" Molly gently encouraged, moving closer and laying a supportive hand on his arm. He didn't pull away, just looked down at it, then back out at the horizon.

"Like maybe it should be me going, instead of you, facing my enemy head on, rather than hiding away up here."

"So why don't you?"

A bitter smirk crept onto his face, and he shook his head.

"Because if I walk out those gates, I don't trust myself to return. I've cut and run before, left all I care about behind because I told myself it was for the best, that I was protecting them. I could do it again, tell myself that if I lead him away, he'd leave you two alone, you could carry on here, or maybe if you showed no symptoms you could even return to your home."

Molly's lips parted, knowing that she _should_ tell him now, but she couldn't find the words. He didn't seem to notice, ploughing ahead with his reasoning.

"... But if I left you behind, you'd become expendable to him, he could kill you as readily as those messengers, just to make a point. At this point I'm not sure which is more likely."

"So we stick with our original plan." Molly suggested practically, trying and failing to sound upbeat, "After all, we've already brought the telescope down."

"Yes, right, so..." He whirled away from her, his pensive mood evaporating, replaced with the thrill of the game. He disappeared back into the drawing room, then returned a few seconds later with what looked like a medieval hunting horn, "I'll watch your progress from up here, and if I see anyone heading your way, or anything I deem a threat, I'll signal you with the horn, like so..." He put the horn to his lips and blew through it, causing Molly to cover her ears in protection from the loudness of the noise. There was no doubt she'd hear it from the ground. "...And you drop whatever you are doing and you run, and you don't stop until you are safely back inside the house. Do you understand?"

"Run if I hear the horn. Got it."

Twenty minutes later and Molly was venturing out, basket in hand, to gather what she could. She didn't dare wander any further than a couple of hundred yards from the fence, for fear of Sherlock losing sight of her, but even that far away she felt uncomfortably exposed. The once familiar and innocuous landscape around her now seemed alien and sinister, and she couldn't help but jump at every small sound, constantly looking over her shoulder.

Her gaze regularly strayed back to the manor, where she could just about make out Sherlock on the balcony watching over her. His face was obscured by the telescope and his hair falling in curtains around it, but he still made her feel safer, like her own guardian angel. She scoffed at her thoughts, knowing how Sherlock would rolls his eyes at the idea, and felt a little better.

She had already filled her basket once with edible plants and fungi, and bottles of water from the stream, taking it and leaving it back at the manor, before setting out again, when she heard the heavy crunch of leaves under human feet, and voices approaching. She shrank back against the tree she was gathering mushrooms from, her head whipping around and then searching out her touchstone of the manor, wondering why Sherlock hadn't blown the horn in warning. Belatedly she realised the patch of woods she had wandered into was rather dense, making it difficult for her to see the manor through the trees if she wasn't at the right angle, and therefore difficult for Sherlock to see her, and probably anyone else.

She was just weighing up her chances of making a break for it, when she realised she recognised the approaching voices. _Gaston and John!_ She drew a sharp breath, forcing herself to remain where she was and not let them see her, no matter how tempting it was. Perhaps that's why Sherlock hadn't signalled her, knowing her old friends couldn't possibly mean any danger to her, though she was surprised he wouldn't have wanted her out of there anyway.

Their footsteps and voices came to a halt about 20 yards away, close enough that she could just about pick out their conversation.

"Here's good, a clear line of sight, but I doubt he'll be able to see us with this thick undergrowth. What is he doing?" John was saying.

"Well if all has gone according to plan, he should have sent Molly out to fetch him some food, since we burnt his vegetable patch. He must be watching to ensure she doesn't escape." Gaston's voice followed, causing Molly to frown. It was them who destroyed their food? What about Moriarty? Was he using them without them knowing?

"We'll soon fix that." John replied in a hard voice, and Molly heard a mechanical clicking that made her blood run cold. Peering around from her hiding place, she saw John hoisting his rifle up, bracing it against his shoulder and taking aim.

"John, no!" She cried, dashing out from her hiding place without another thought. A sound split the air, but thankfully not a gunshot, it was the sound of Sherlock's hunting horn. Her dash must have drawn his eye to the danger he was in, she thought. Thankfully, Sherlock was not the only one to notice, as both the men on the ground were looking at her now, as she came to a halt a safe distance from them, and John was lowering his gun, albeit fractionally.

"Molly!" He said, his face breaking into the warm smile she was familiar with. "It's okay, we're here to rescue you. Just let us take care of this Beast who had been holding you hostage, and we'll take you home where you belong."

He started to raise his gun, taking aim at Sherlock again. The horns cries continued to split the air, and Molly cursed internally, realising that to blow the horn he must have taken his eye away from the scope, and not be able to see the danger he was in. She had to stop John firing that gun!

"No, you can't!" She tried again, but John wasn't listening, concentrating on lining up his shot. She saw it the moment he had Sherlock in his sights, and desperately played her last card before he could pull the trigger, knowing there was no other way, even if Sherlock wouldn't agree with her actions, "John, it's Sherlock up there!"

John seemed to freeze in place, they all did as her words hung in the air, shattered only by the horn still blowing. Slowly he turned his head away from the gun, staring at Molly with a slack jaw and a hundred different emotions flickering through his eyes.

"What did you say?" He hoarsely whispered.

"You can't shoot him, it's-" her words cut off in a gasp as she watched Gaston wrenching the gun free from John's shock-frozen hands, take aim, and fire. As the gunshot echoed through the woods around them, the horn fell silent, and Molly screamed in horror. "Jimmy! How could you!" She felt tears instantly well up in her eyes, her hand covering her mouth as her gaze flickered between the manor, and her old boyfriend in confusion.

"Quite easily, in fact." He answered, in a cruel taunting tone she had never heard from him before. "Oh, and my name isn't Jimmy Gaston, it's James Moriarty, and I have a Beast to kill. Bye!"

Gun still in hand, he sprinted away in the direction of the manor, leaving Molly and John standing frozen, staring at each other in shock. Then at once they both turned and gave chase, though whether John was chasing her, Moriarty, or just running into action out of habit, Molly couldn't tell. Moriarty was fast, tearing ahead of them and reaching the road leading up to the gates in no time, gaining even more of a lead on the smooth run while his pursuers stumbled over branches and rocks. What was probably less than a minute later, John and Molly made it out into the road, but became separated as they dodged a horse and carriage that seemed to come out of nowhere. Molly kept running for the manor, but John was cut off, growling in recognition of the black carriage.

"Mycroft! Dammit, let me through, I know Sherlock is up there, and he needs my help!"

"I can't let you go up there, John." Mycroft answered, leaning out of the window to address him, before reaching down, holding something out to John, "But I can help you help him from down here."

John took the handgun offered to him and nodded, before climbing up the side of the carriage to the roof, for a better vantage point.

Sherlock pulled away from the telescope, having seen enough to piece the situation together and staggered back into the drawing room, one clenched fist pressed to his shoulder, attempting to stem the flow of blood dripping from it.

"MRS HUDSON!" He roared, making for the door, and surprised when it opened from the other side before he could reach it.

"What's going on, I heard a gunshot, you're not - oh my!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, spotting the blood spreading out under his hand.

"Moriarty, he's heading this way." Sherlock explained, albeit the abridged version. "It's me he's after, if you hide yourself away, he'll leave you alone. You know about the hidden crawl space in the library?" He waited for her fearful nod before continuing "Good, hide yourself in there, lock the door after you."

"What about Molly? Is she-?" Mrs Hudson asked over her shoulder as Sherlock hustled her out the room.

"Yes she's fine, go!"

Downstairs a door slammed open, spurring Mrs Hudson to action with a frightened murmur. Sherlock went in the opposite direction, making as much noise as he could, his heavy footsteps echoed by lighter, faster ones as Moriarty gave chase, following him through the maze-like mansion. Sherlock eventually came out on another balcony running along the side of the East wing's second floor, with nowhere left to run. He leaned over the railing, looking down at the sheer drop below, before spinning to face Moriarty as he emerged.

"James Moriarty, I presume. So thrilling to finally meet you face to face. You're shorter than I imagined." Sherlock drawled, taking a step away from the edge and back along the balcony towards the front of the house, staggering slightly on his bad foot.

"Oh, but we have met, or do you not remember the village handyman who gave you a tip on the Edmonkton case?" Moriarty replied, his hands in his pockets as he lazily advanced, the rifle supposedly disposed of.

"Of course I remember. But it's nice to be properly introduced. So what brings you to my humble abode after all this time? Surely you must have known I was here before now?" Another careful step back. "Could it be that I'm getting a little too close to finding a cure to your favourite ailment of mankind?"

"Pfft, please, leprosy is so ten years ago, I've moved on to much bigger things. It's cute that you're trying to cure yourself though." Moriarty shot his theory down, causing Sherlock's face to fall. He had been hoping... But nevermind. He kept his focus on Moriarty as he stalked closer, slowly pulling a knife out of his pocket and twirling it in his fingers. "No, I'm here because you took something of mine, or rather someone. It's funny, I couldn't have cared less when the little _bitch_ went missing, but when I found out you were playing house with her... Well I couldn't have that. Once you're dead I'll be taking her back of course, and making her my wife, so she can't keep running off."

Sherlock snorted in derision. "What makes you think she'd marry _you_?"

"What, after I killed the Beast that was holding her captive and set her free? She'd be mad not to." Moriarty smiled brightly, before his manic grin dropped into a serious expression "No, really, I have a doctor in town who'd be more than happy to pronounce her insane and ship her off to an asylum if she refuses. And perhaps John Watson too, can't have him babbling about a dead detective coming back to life then being murdered by the village handyman, can we?"

"Sounds like you have it all planned out." Sherlock said, peeling his eyes away from Moriarty for a second to check behind him. He was fast running out of room to back away, they were nearly level with the front of the house.

"Well of course. Who's going to stop me? You? Look at you, you-" The sound of a gunshot interrupted , and Moriarty instinctively ducked as the tiled overhang of the roof above him spewed debris from the impact. Sherlock smirked slightly, pleased with himself for leading Moriarty into John's sights, while Moriarty, with a face of thunder, leaned around for a better view, scowling at John, who was crouched down on top of the carriage, as it rolled around for a better vantage point, while he reloaded.

"I'LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER!" Moriarty shouted down, shaking his head as he sidestepped so that Sherlock was between him and John's aim. "Where was I? Ah, yes, look at you, you're _pathetic_. You can barely stand before me, wounded, riddled with illness, wasting away from hunger... Honestly I barely recognise you, you're a mess, and you've lost your touch. I expected you to put up so much more of a fight, and frankly, I'm disappointed."

"You're right." Sherlock admitted, looking down in shame and taking another cringing step backwards, his whole leg trembling and threatening to give way if it wasn't for the railing now at his back. "I'm not the man I once was, I've lost it all, damned to this miserable existence. Please... I... I don't want to die. Am I not suffering enough to satisfy you? Please... please just spare me. You can have the girl, I-"

Moriarty took that last step forward in pursuit, putting him exactly where Sherlock needed him. Without giving Moriarty a second to react, Sherlock darted forward like a snake, grabbing him by his lapels and heaved them both backwards, tumbling them over the railing.

 _AN: Sorry not sorry!_

 _Cookie for Bella Cuore, Tabitha and Elbafo for recognising Chip in the last chapter, thank you for your comments, and also TheSandFromTheEmbers, Guest and Soaring Heart the Pegasus for your comments too, they really brighten my day._

 _See you all again Wednesday for the next instalment._


	14. Not Dead

**Chapter 14 - Not Dead**

 _10th October 1867 - Holmes Manor_

For too long Sherlock had been numbed, feeling nothing physically and emotionally, because of his condition. Molly had stirred some feelings in him, but nothing like he felt now. He felt **_alive_** , truly exhilarated, his blood flooded with adrenaline, making his heart pound, and his senses sharpen, the greatest high he knew.

The physical sensations, while a welcome change, were rather less pleasant. His leg wrenched painfully as something stopped his descent, and swung him, his torso colliding with the brickwork of the corner of the house, a pain made worse by the the wound in his shoulder, which screamed in agony at the poor treatment.

Still, things could be worse, he could be feeling nothing at all, he reflected, looking upside-down at the ground below. There lay James Moriarty's body, sprawled out beneath him, neck and other limbs bent in ways they really shouldn't.

Sherlock couldn't really feel what had caught him as he fell, the grip on a still numb part of his leg, but he had a good guess. He tucked his chin to his chest to look up, seeing Molly bent over the railing, struggling with his weight, but with a determined grip on his ankle.

"Ah, Molly, perfect timing." He grinned up at her.

"I guess this makes us even." She grunted in response, "Let's not make a habit of it though."

Sherlock chuckled, letting his head hang back once more to catch his breath before, with a bit of contortion and a few touch-and-go moments, they pulled him safely back onto the balcony. No sooner had he set his feet back on solid ground, Molly pulled back and slapped him hard across the face, then hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest. The slap didn't hurt, though her tight hug did fiercely ache his shoulder, but he didn't push her away, needing it almost as much as she did.

"Don't ever do anything like that again!" She practically sobbed into his jacket, "You could have died!"

"I knew you'd catch me. I saw you attempting to creep up behind him; a foolish move, didn't you see his knife?" Sherlock reprimanded, craning his neck back to look down at her.

"You were begging for your life." Molly sniffed.

"All part of the plan, I assure you. I never beg."

His arrogance seemed to actually comfort her somewhat, and with another sniff she started to draw back, only then noticing the blood crusting on his jacket around his shoulder, and gasping.

"Oh, Sherlock, you're shot! Why didn't you say anything? Here I am blubbering and -"

"It's really not that bad. Just a flesh wound." Sherlock insisted, looking dispassionately at the bleeding hole.

"You're only saying that because you probably can't feel it." She reached up to gently examine it, but Sherlock pulled back with a sharp intake of breath.

"No, I can definitely feel that." He bitterly laughed, turning towards the door, "Let's get down to my lab, you can patch me up down there."

Molly fell into step with him, biting her lip anxiously.

"Sherlock, that bullet it... It's going to have to be taken out. I've never done something like that before, perhaps it would be better if I went and got John. He's right outside and-"

"No."

"Oh, but he - "

"I realise you told him that I'm here, and you probably saved my life by doing so, if he'd taken the shot I'd be dead." Sherlock admitted, "But that doesn't change my wish to keep him as far away from me in my diseased state as possible. Mycroft will explain my condition to him."

"Okay. Okay I'll do it." Molly took a deep breath, "But you should at least talk to John. He's going to want to hear it from you, and... And you probably owe him an apology too."

"Why?" Sherlock frowned.

"Because he's your friend! And you let him think you were dead for years, and now he knows you're not-"

She was cut off mid-sentence by heavy banging on the front door, accompanied by John Watson shouting.

"Open up Sherlock! I know you're in there, and I know what you are, but if you think I'm leaving without an apology and explanation from your own lips, you have another thought coming!"

Molly raised her eyebrows at Sherlock in an I-told-you-so manner, a smirk turning up her lips as she tried not to giggle.

"Fine!" Sherlock sighed huffily, "Go let him in before he breaks the door down, and escort him to the dining room to wait. I'll retrieve Mrs Hudson and send her down to dote on him for a bit while you fix me up. Happy?"

They separated at the top of the grand staircase, and Molly quickly descended towards the door, on which John Watson still pounded.

"Sherlo-" Her opening the door cut him off mid shout, his fist still raised to strike the door. Upon seeing Molly he gave a polite cough, lowering his fist and clasping his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. "Ah Molly, I... Is that blood on your apron?" His eyebrows creased in doctorly concern.

Molly followed his gaze in alarm and noticed the red stain on her shoulder, no doubt from where she had hugged Sherlock without noticing his injury.

"Oh... Yes, it's not mine though, it's Sherlock's... You know, where Moriarty shot him."

John's look of concern deepened, along with a helping of guilt. "Oh... I didn't realise, he looked okay when he was on the balcony, from what I could see." He said awkwardly, "Where..."

"The shoulder. It's not too deep apparently. He... He requested you wait in the dining room, while I tend to the wound."

John nodded for her to lead the way, and fell into step beside her. For a second all that could be heard was their feet echoing in the entrance hall, and a door closing upstairs, until John broke the silence.

"Assuming there's only so much trouble Sherlock can get himself into whilst sickened and locked up in a place like this, you've never removed a bullet before, have you?"

"No." Molly admitted, her voice shaking slightly out of nervousness. "But you have, in the war?" She knew her eyes were pleading with him, but whether she was asking him not to try and interfere, or to march up there and demand to treat Sherlock, she wasn't sure.

John seemed to understand though."Yes, but Sherlock's not going to let me see to him, is he?" Molly shook her head in answer, and John grimaced. "He's stubborn as ever, I see. If I might offer you some pointers?"

"Please do." Molly gratefully accepted. They had reached the dining room now, and she was further surprised by John pulling out a seat for her, seating himself opposite as if this were his office.

"Right. First thing to remember is it's best to take the bullet out through the same path it went in, use one set of forceps to hold open the entry wound, and another to do the extracting. It's a little more difficult if the bullet had entered at an angle, which is likely in this case due to the trajectory of the shot, but making a fresh incision should be a last resort, as the fresh blood will make it harder for you to see what you're doing. And be prepared for it to bleed a lot more once you've got the bullet out, often they act as a plug in the wound, preventing too much blood being lost, until you remove them. Be ready to pack the wound and put pressure on it as soon as you get it out, you'll need to stop the bleeding before you can stitch it."

"Right." Molly nodded, committing his instructions to memory. It didn't sound too difficult, but these things were often easier said than done.

"Oh, and, I don't know what your medical supply situation is like, or even Sherlock's current... status, on the matter..." John frowned as though an unpleasant possibility had occurred to him, "But giving him opiates for pain relief would be a bad idea, even if he asks for them. Especially if he asks for them, in fact. He's been an addict in the past, and if he relapses... Well let's just say pulling that bullet without it will be less painful for both of you than him going through withdrawal."

"So what should I give him instead, for the pain?" Molly asked, frowning as she pushed the information about him being an addict aside to consider later, focusing on his current condition for now.

"Some chloroform to knock him out, or a stick to bite on." John shrugged. "It's a quick enough procedure, he should be fine. And I'm sure he'll be safe in your hands. Mike told me the extent you helped him too down in the morgue, and I must admit the cadavers haven't been stitched up half as neatly since your disappearance."

"Thank you." Molly said, grateful for the change of subject. "And how is Mike, and everyone. Has Greg been okay without me?"

"Mike's fine, he's married now, can you believe it? And Greg... Well I won't lie to you, he took your disappearance hard, took is as a personal failure as a policeman and a friend, but he's picked himself up. He'll be pleased to hear you're okay, he would have come along himself to rescue you, but you know... Vigilantism is rather frowned on in his line of work. He would have turned a blind eye though if I'd killed... Goodness, I was actually going to kill Sherlock wasn't I?" He said as though he'd just realised the full depth of his actions, his face going a little paler. "I supposed I should be thanking you for stopping me."

"You're welcome." Molly said sincerely, "And thank _you_ , for trying to save me, even if it was..."

"Misguided and foolhardy?" John supplies, and they shared a smile.

"Yoo, hoo!" Came a call from the door, and they looked around to see Mrs Hudson peeking in, smiling broadly at John, whose jaw dropped comically.

"Mrs Hudson?" He said disbelievingly, jumping back to his feet. "I thought you were in Scotland!" He walked over to hug her, then hesitated, clearly unsure if she was carrying the illness too, but she didn't hesitate at all to ensconce him in her arms.

"Been here all along." She told him, "Though you always could have written you know, Mycroft was forwarding my letters, and not a single one from you!"

Molly chuckled at her scolding, and excused herself to go attended to Sherlock. She hurried up the stairs and into his lab, letting out a surprised squeak, as she walked in on him removing his shirt, and averted her eyes in embarrassment.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, and Molly could practically hear him smirking over her reaction.

"Not at all." Molly replied, though still unable to look at him. She knew she should have expected this, she could hardly operate with it on, but it had taken her by surprise none-the-less. Watching him take a seat in her peripheral vision, she made her way to the drawer where he kept his medical supplies and took out the little medical kit. Putting it down on the table she re-examined the contents, taking out the things she would need - needle and thread, bandages, forceps, alcohol for sterilisation... But no chloroform. She looked around the lab, starting towards some bottles on the shelves, but Sherlock was getting impatient.

"What are you looking for?"

"Chloroform, to knock you out while I'm taking it out." Molly explained, starting to look along the bottles labels, to no avail.

"Don't waste your time, I don't have any. Never had a use for it. There really is no need for it anyhow, I have some opiate derivatives in the-" he cut himself off, obviously seeing something on her face to stop him going further, and then rolled his eyes. "Oh, I see. You've been talking to John."

"He doesn't think-" she started to explain, but as usual, Sherlock cut her short.

"I know what John thinks." He snapped, grabbing his ruined shirt again and ripping the sleeve off, muttering something about not being an addict as he twisted up the piece of cloth into a more solid bundle. "Let's get this over with then." He insisted, before putting the thick twist of fabric between his teeth, a gag and a cushion at once.

"Okay." Molly said, swallowing and then taking a big breath. _It'll hurt him more than me,_ she reminded herself, _and if he's being so brave about it, so should I._ She took her seat opposite him, and doused a rag in some of the alcohol, wiping down her tools with it to sterilise them, before pouring some on the wound also to clean it. A glance at his face revealed not a flicker in his composure at the stinging burn of it, and Molly let out a breath, relaxing a little. Perhaps the leprosy was all the numbing he needed. Focusing back on her task, she examined the wound. The bullet had gone in at an angle as John had predicted, into the soft fleshy bit to the side of his armpit. Not that much of his exposed torso could really be called fleshy, as he was mostly skin, bone, and lean muscle.

As prepared as she'd ever be, she took a deep breath and made a start, following John's instructions. So much for her hopes that Sherlock wouldn't feel it too much, it wasn't long before his breathing turned deep and ragged as she got the first set of forceps in place, morphing into screams of agony only barely muffled by the rag in his mouth as she probed for the bullet. Tears prickled Molly's eyes in sympathy, and she muttered a mantra of "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm really sorry." All the while her hands held steady however, and she was quickly able to get a grip on the bullet and pull it out, packing the wound with bandages and putting pressure on it as quickly as she could.

"I'm sorry." She said again, locking eyes with Sherlock as his chest heaved in recovery. He pulled his eyes away from her as he spit out the rag, and wiped away the involuntary tears that had slipped down his his cheekbones.

"Do stop apologising Molly." He rebuked her once he had caught his breath, "You've done nothing wrong, in fact you did rather well. I was half expecting you to faint, actually, you did look rather pale when you were preparing."

"I've seen worse in the morgue." Molly attempted to downplay it, "Though the corpses don't usually scream so much."

Laughter rumbled out of Sherlock in a crescendo, his body relaxing fully after its trauma. Molly smiled at his mirth, holding his gaze as his laughter died down, turning into a rather tender look. For a long few seconds they just looked at each other, and Sherlock started to lean forward, then sharply sucked in a breath as his shoulder pushed harder against Molly's hand, still holding the bandage against it. Molly leaned back, blushing and looking down, shuffling the instruments around.

"I should stitch that, the bleeding should have stopped by now." She shyly muttered, peeling back the bandaging to have a look and then taking it away completely, and preparing the needle.

"Right." Sherlock said, sitting back with his usual cool expression, "and then the hard part begins."

"The hard part?" Molly's eyebrows shot up, unable to imagine anything harder than the minor operation she had just performed.

"Explaining my fake death to John Watson." Sherlock smirked.

 _AN: Apologies for any mistakes in the medical side of this chapter, I'm no doctor and so know little enough on modern medicine, yet alone 1800's medicine, other than what I could find on google._

 _Thanks to all my followers old and new, and to LRRH17, MorbidbyDefault, applejacks0808, Soaring Heart the Pegasus, elbafo and Allnighterprose for the comments on that last chapter!_

 _We're coming to the end of this adventure now folks, only two more chapters to go. See you Sunday for the penultimate chapter :)_


	15. Whatever Remains Must Be The Truth

**Chapter 15 - Whatever Remains Must Be The Truth**

 _10th October 1867 - Holmes Manor_

Molly sat in the middle of the dining room table, while Sherlock sat one end and John the other, neither saying anything at all. Or at least, not out loud. Looking back and forth between them, Molly could just about make out a conversation being held through facial expression alone.

 _'Well. I'm waiting for an explanation.'_ John's sternly raised eyebrows and pointed look said.

 _'So ask me.'_ Sherlock's shrug and bored expression replied.

John frowned, and then glanced at Molly, a sly smirk creeping up his face. He looked back and forth between Sherlock and Molly a few more times and waggled his eyebrows. His meaning couldn't be more clear. _'You and Molly, eh?'_

 _'Don't be so childish, John'_ Sherlock's unamused stare and head tilt answered. Then he straightened in his seat, meeting John's eyes with an insolent stare. _'Say what you want to say to me, John, I'm losing my patience.'_

" _ **You're**_ _losing your patience!_ ' John's eyebrows shot up. "You know, today was the second time I've watched you throw yourself off a building." He broke the silence. "Molly wasn't there to save you the first time though, or at least, I assume she wasn't"

"Street theatre, John. A system of - "

"I don't much care _how_ you did it Sherlock." John cut him off, "I want to know why, why you let me believe you dead for _ten years?_ "

"You know I'm a leper, John." Sherlock's brow wrinkled in confusion, as though he expects this one fact should answer everything.

"And I'm a doctor." John rallied back.

"Exactly! You wouldn't have let me go, you would have insisted on staying with me to doctor me, even at your own risk!" Sherlock vehemently insisted, "I couldn't let you do that, not when you and Mary were wed less than a year, with a baby due none-the-less. Your place was with your family, mine was exile."

John seemed to absorb this for a minute, before his eyes flicked around the room. "This is exile." He muttered, scoffing at the lavish surroundings. "It's a big house for just one person, Sherlock. More than big enough for a family, if you'd given us the choice."

Sherlock shook his head, not able to meet his friends eyes. "That's no life for -"

"Don't tell me what to do with my life, Sherlock, or my family's." John sternly told him. "I went to war. I chased criminals all over London with you. You know Mary's past too, you know both of us aren't afraid to take risks for a worthwhile cause, and you were always worth it to us."

"But your daughter -"

"We'd have figured something out. You'd have figured something out, you're a genius after all." John pointed out. "After all you've managed to keep Mrs Hudson in the clear. And you, Molly." He turned to her politely, talking to her rather than about her, "You don't appear to be suffering with it at all."

"No, she hasn't, remarkably." Sherlock spoke for her, "I'm beginning to consider -"

"Um, actually..." Molly interrupted before he could get any further. She may have been delaying in telling him, but having been asked directly, didn't feel like she could hide it any longer. Still, her voice was small as she muttered, "I may have recently started to develop some.. Some symptoms. On... On my feet mostly."

She glanced at Sherlock's face as he now stared at her, wordlessly, and wished she hadn't. Those eyes would haunt her, she knew, the shock, horror, despair and hurt laid bare in them, as though she had personally wounded him, and she feared she might have, by not telling him. John on the other hand was calmly composed, though doctorly concern creased his brows.

"Your feet you say? May I?" He gestured to her shoes and she nodded, pushing her chair back and starting to remove them as he got up to come closer and investigate. Sherlock though seemed to come out of his shock, and jumped to his feet too.

"No, you certainly may not! In fact I think it's time you left John, right now, you can see yourself out."

"Sherlock..." Molly chastised him for his sharpness.

"It's okay Molly." John said, standing his ground and giving Sherlock a no-nonsense look, "I lived with him for two years, I can handle his temper tantrums."

"I do not have temper tantrums!" Sherlock protested loudly, proving the point, "What I apparently have, is two companions who think leprosy is a joke!"

"Of course I don't, Sherlock." "We've made jokes about worse, old friend." John and Molly spoke at once. Sherlock seemed to completely ignore John, stepping closer to Molly and crouching down beside her to look her in the eye.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" He implored.

"I... I couldn't really find a good time, with all that's been happening. And I didn't really think it mattered, we're already here, you're already working on a cure... What more could we do?" She asked. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John's eyebrows rise at the mention of Sherlock working on a cure, but he didn't comment, giving the two some space to work through their newest issue.

"I could have collected data, documented the spread! And different cures work for better or worse on different people, we could have tried some on you to see if the results correlated with mine." He listed off, his eyes becoming distant as he already started planning.

"Okay, well we can start doing that now our other crises are averted." Molly placated him

"You say it's just your feet so far? I need to see..." He started to finish her job of unbuckling her shoes without waiting for an answer, eager to start collecting data. Molly let him, allowing him to turn her foot this way and that in examination, his large hands gentle, though she could hardly feel them.

"No discolouration yet..." He bent closer to her foot, eyes intent on one spot on her sole

"Freshly healed skin... I never noticed you had a foot injury or a limp, but this can't be older than...2 weeks. What happened?"

"A long thorn pierced through my shoe and into my foot, the first time I went out." Molly explained. "I didn't even feel it, didn't realise it was stuck in there until the evening. That's when I realised..." She trailed off, the rest of her sentence self-explanatory.

"Loss of feeling..." Sherlock muttered, pulling a pen out of his inner jacket pocket and pressing it to points of her foot, searching her face for a reaction.

"Speaking of foot injuries." John made his presence known again, now seated again but keenly watching Sherlock's motions, probably making his own medical observations based on them, "Are you going to tell me what happened to yours Sherlock? You didn't have that limp when I last saw you, it looks like a poorly set break."

"Because that's exactly what it is." Sherlock said, his eyes still glued to Molly's feet, testing the second one now, "I broke it shortly after I arrived here, helping to bring a better bed downstairs for Mrs Hudson."

Molly's eyes widened, recalling Mrs Hudson mentioning that Sherlock had brought down a better bed for her, not long after Molly had arrived, back when she still hated Sherlock for trapping her here. Mrs Hudson hadn't mentioned that he'd hurt himself doing it, despite the fact it could have gone a long way to helping Molly seeing him as the kind soul he really was. Better that she saw it herself, Molly realised

"And I bet you carried on running around on it like nothing had happened, didn't you?" John was accusing Sherlock as her thoughts drifted.

"Something like that." Sherlock agreed, finishing up with Molly's feet and standing again. "Your point?"

"It'll need to be to be broken again to reset it, if you ever want anything close to full motion back once you've cured yourself." John explained, "And it'd probably be better to do it before then to save yourself the pain, if you think you can be more responsible and _not_ run around on it and do more damage again."

"You'd be shocked and impressed how much better I take care of myself now, John, thank you very much." Sherlock haughtily replied, taking a seat again. "I'll take care of the leg as soon as my shoulder has healed. Molly can assist me, she's becoming quite the able nurse."

Molly blushed and lowered her eyes, embarrassed by his praise, though glad he still thought of her as able after finding out about her own sufferings.

"Yes, I'm sure she is." John agreed, "Though don't think that means I won't be back to check on your progress myself!"

"Be back? You're leaving already?" Molly asked.

"Oh no you do not!" Mrs Hudson suddenly bustled in, laying a tray of tea and biscuits down on the table, "I've only just got you back, and a kitchen full of food to boot, you're not leaving without some supper young man. I won't take no for an answer, I've already made a start."

John opened his mouth, clearly intending to protest, but then his expression softened, and he smiled graciously. "Yes, thank you Mrs Hudson. Though just a little for me, Mary will be anxiously awaiting my return at home, and will probably have dinner ready herself."

"Of course, well, all the more for us then." Mrs Hudson said brightly, dishing out the cups and starting to pour, as Sherlock and Molly shared a smile over Mrs Hudson's cooking plans, "It was very good of your brother to come personally to bring us the supplies we needed, Sherlock, what with it being so dangerous after the others were killed, you really should thank him, you know" She carried on, oblivious to their mirth at her expense.

"Of course, the travellers who were killed!" John said, another penny dropping in his mind, "We never could figure out who they were, where they came from or where going... They were coming here, to deliver supplies. Moriarty had us believing you were killing them, but it was him all along. Well now I just feel terrible for burning your remaining vegetables."

"Ah, I did think that fire had Captain Watson written all over it." Sherlock smirked.

"No you didn't." John rebuffed, "There's no way you could have known."

"Moriarty, known to you then as Jimmy Gaston, brought you here for reconnoissance and pointed out the vegetables, allowing you to come to your own conclusion that burning them would draw me out, and then stood back while you executed the plan." Sherlock reeled off, causing John's jaw to drop slightly, and then tighten in irritation. "You forget who you are speaking to, John, the tale was clear to be read in the morning's light by the footprints surrounding the patch. That's also how I know it _wasn't_ you who poisoned our water, you would never have approved a plan like that anyhow."

"You really have missed showing off your deductive abilities, haven't you?" John pointed out amused.

"And you've missed hearing it." Sherlock returned, a smile sliding up his cheek. John rolled his eyes, shaking his head in exasperation, and then almost at once both men started to chuckle.

The two continued an easy banter over dinner, particularly when Molly told John she had read some of his accounts of their adventures, and he indulged her in another tale, Sherlock chucking in acerbic comments and corrections as it went along. The evening flew by, and before they knew it, John was putting on his hat to leave.

"So what will you tell everyone, back in the village, about why it's only you returning?" Sherlock asked, hovering a safe distance back by the front door, as John moved away down the path.

"The truth, Sherlock. They should know who the real monster was." John's gaze drifted away in the direction where Moriarty's body had lain, but of course Mycroft had already 'taken care' of it.

"Mm. I suppose Lestrade will want to come up here to confirm your story, and take statements, or whatever it is the police are doing these days." Sherlock sighed, as if heavily put upon to see his old friend.

"He'll be happy to see you again, I'm sure." John translated. "Though he fancied himself a bit of a father figure to Molly, so expect an inquisition into your intentions with her from him."

"Wonderful." Sherlock groaned sarcastically, bringing another smile to John's lips. He said his final farewell, lit the lantern Sherlock had given him to see him home, and strolled away into the night, confident that no monsters lurked in the shadows.

 _AN: Bit of a short one, I know, I'm just tying off loose ends now really, before the final chapter._

 _Thanks to elbafo, Berrybanana05, Bella Cuore, SammyKatz, Soaring Heart the Pegasus, MarienSully, Mistykins and Guest(s) for your reviews, it's great to have so many of you aboard. And getting sooo close to 100 followers too, thanks to every single one of you._

 _So, true story, I was walking home the other day, taking a scenic shortcut that crisscrosses the river stout, and as I walked over one bridge I observed a walking stick that appeared to have been left behind at the side of the bridge. I deduced that the if someone needed the stick to get there, they couldn't have left without it, and wondered if they had perhaps fallen in, so looked over one side of the bridge, and seeing nothing decided I was being silly and carried on walking home. I later found out my deduction had been correct and if I had looked over the other side of the bridge, I would have been the one to find the dead body in the water, that was spotted from that exact spot half and hour later. Probably for the best I didn't look, suffice it to say I'm more than a little freaked out, some detective I make._


	16. Happily Ever After

**Chapter 16 - Happily Ever After**

 _22nd March 1869 - Holmes Manor_

Molly stood in the middle of the entrance hall, dressed in a beautiful but practical green travelling dress, all her belongings packed up in her satchel and the trunk at her feet, including all the clothes Sherlock had given her and a rather generous stack of coins, payment for her services over her time here. After almost two years, she was finally going home, completely cured and free to leave.

It had been Molly who had found the key piece of information that had allowed Sherlock to develop his cure. It had been 9 months ago now, Sherlock was in one of his frequent foul moods, a result of frustration over not being able to find a cure as he watched their deteriorating states, and had angrily sent Molly away from him for the day. She'd retreated to her usual refuge of the library, picking through old medical texts for anything useful, and that's when she had found it, the article from 1854 by Frederick John Mouat about his use of chaulmoogra oil in treating leprosy. She'd rushed the book up to Sherlock, half expecting him to say he'd already seen it and it was a fruitless lead, but instead his eyes had widened in excitement over the possibilities and he'd leapt up, kissing her cheek on the way past as he set about writing to his brother for further information and supplies. A couple of months of experimenting and breaking down the components of the oil, and his cure was ready.

Molly had finished her course of treatments and been pronounced by both Sherlock and John as cured a couple of months ago, but despite his blessing for her to leave, had decided to remain with Sherlock for the remainder of his treatment.

"We've come this far together," she told him "I think I'd prefer to see it through."

What she didn't mention was that after all that had passed, Holmes Manor had begun to feel as much like home as her cottage in Finchley did, and it had something that home didn't; a family. The thought of leaving truly saddened her, though she tried not to let it show, but she was sure Sherlock saw right through her, as he usually did. He'd greeted the news she was staying with a smug smirk and a tender gaze.

Since the discovery of his cure, and particularly when it had started to take effect, Sherlock had been happier than she'd ever seen him. New experiments for the pure joy of it were scattered all over the lab bringing with them interesting smells and controlled explosions, and the sound of music from his violin filled the house day and night, as soon as his hands were able. Lestrade had brought some cold case files over, and Sherlock had swept them away with his deductions, solving each one faster than the previous like it was some kind of game. Molly had enjoyed seeing a new side of him, almost childlike in his enthusiasm. Not that he didn't have the occasional bad mood, frustrated with being pent up and the slow work of the cure, but it soon passed when something was found to occupy his racing mind.

And now, he too was fully cured. Last night the house had been filled with voices and laughter, as all their friends had come up to the big house to celebrate. Mrs Hudson had provided a banquet like no other, and cases of wine had been dug out of the depths of a wine cellar which Molly didn't even know they had.

Molly would never forget the moment Sherlock had walked down those stairs to meet his guests, clean shaven for the first time she'd ever seen him, his long unruly hair trimmed and smoothed back, his gait confident and strong as though he'd never been sick at all. Even in the worst of states she'd seen him in she'd always been able to appreciate how handsome he was underneath it all, but now she could see how right she'd been and it took her breath away.

John had been the first to step forward and give his friend a hearty slap on the back in celebration, and it brought a tear to Molly's eye, reminded of the picture she'd found of the two of them, back when it had seemed they'd never be reunited, and yet here they were. As they sat at dinner, the two men had discussed their plans to return to London, Gregory even chipping in that he might have to look into getting his old position back at Scotland Yard, and Molly had smiled for them, before taking a large gulp of her wine in attempt to drown out the sadness that was filling her at their coming separation.

Sherlock had soon tired of socialising however, and once they had all retired to a drawing room, had taken up his violin, his beautiful melodies providing a backdrop to the quieter conversations going on around the room. Molly had chatted with Michael Stamford, about how she'd come along in her nurse skills taking care of Sherlock, and how they could find a position for her back at the clinic, which John would be leaving in Mike's care, without causing too much of a stir about a female practitioner. Years ago the offer would have seemed like a dream come true to her, but Molly couldn't seem to muster the enthusiasm for it, not sure what she wanted anymore.

"A penny for your thoughts?" A voice said besides Molly, causing her to jump as she snapped out of her memories and back into the present, where Sherlock stood beside her, bearing his own bags. He smirked at her reaction, a look that was all the more boyish on his clean shaven face, exaggerated by his unruly, though shorter, curls that he hadn't bothered to slick back today.

"Oh, I was just thinking about home, planning ahead." Molly said, trying to sound enthusiastic about it.

"You were frowning." Sherlock pointed out.

"Yes... Well I imagine I'll have a lot of work ahead of me, all this time sitting empty, my house will probably be full of cobwebs by now, it'll need a good spring clean. And the garden is probably all overgrown too, I let it get bad after Dad died and it took me ages to clear it again, I dread to think what it looks like now." Molly was babbling and she knew it, but couldn't seem to stop herself needing to fill the silence with anything but goodbye. "I hope I get some time to settle in before Michael needs me at the clinic, not that I'm not looking forward to working with him again... " She trailed off, noticing that Sherlock was now frowning, his frown growing deeper the more she spoke.

"So you're... You're set on returning to Finchley then." He asked when she gave him the chance.

"Well, of course. It is my home, where else would I go?" Molly asked, trying to curb her imagination from reading too much into his question.

"I was hoping you might return with me to London." Sherlock answered with a casual shrug, causing Molly's heart to leap.

She hesitated before answering however, searching his face for any further hint of what he had in mind, but coming up blank at his cool mask. So many times had she convinced herself something was growing and changing between them, reading meaning into his words and actions, expecting romance to follow, but it never did, their relationship remaining platonic, if warm. It wouldn't do to jump to conclusions now, with such a big decision in front of her, no matter what her heart wanted to believe.

"As what? You don't need a nurse anymore since you're better, and I never really planned on being a housekeeper all my life."

"No, I wouldn't expect you too, you could certainly do better than that. I meant for you to come with me as... As a companion." Sherlock further explained himself, "My house in Baker Street isn't as large as this one, granted, but it's certainly large enough for two, and John will be wanting his own place for his family I imagine."

Again Molly tamped down on her immediate surge of hopes. He probably just meant as a friend, as she had heard him use the term companion for both her and John previously, a point confirmed by his addendum about John wanting his own place. And as much as she would like to stay with Sherlock in any capacity, there were social proprieties they could ignore no longer if they were joining the outside world again.

"I'm not so sure that's such a good idea Sherlock, I mean, outside of our former circumstances, an unmarried man and woman living together without cause would be highly indecorous and... And I have to think about my future. But I could visit, perhaps if-"

"For goodness sake!" Sherlock muttered irritably. There was two muffled thuds as his bags hit the floor and then his hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her towards him as he leaned down, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips to hers. Molly was frozen in shock for a couple of seconds before she melted into it, her lips imitating the gentle movements his own were making, and her arms wrapping around his back as her eyes slid shut of their own volition. Sherlock hummed in approval, his hands losing their tight grip on her shoulders and sliding to more comfortable positions, one cradling the back of her head, the other resting gently at the small of her back. A few blissful seconds later, he ended it, pulling back fractionally so his heavy breathing fanned her face as she remained in his embrace. He said nothing, his eyes simply roving her face as he waited for a response from her.

"So when you say companion," She clarified, "you mean...?"

"Wife. If you'll have me." He readily answered, his voice pitched lower, clearly affected by the kiss. He cleared his throat before continuing, "Though I believe I've known the answer to that for a long time, as your pupils are frequently dilated in my presence, and whenever I've taken your pulse-"

Molly put a finger over his lips to shush him, giggling as she did so.

"Yes, of course I'll marry you." She answered his almost-question. A shrill cry erupted from the passage to the servants quarters behind them, and they turned to see Mrs Hudson clapping her hands in front of her mouth in delight.

"Oh, I knew you two would get there eventually! I'm so happy for both of you. And oh, the wedding will have to be perfect, you let me know as soon as you have a date, there's so much to plan- " Mrs Hudson rambled on.

"Uh, she's going to make this into an _event_ isn't she?" Sherlock muttered to Molly, making her giggle more. "How would you feel about eloping?" He asked in mock-seriousness, though Molly wasn't sure he was entirely joking.

"I think I'd rather not start my marriage with a scandal." Molly chastised, though with a sympathetic smile as Mrs Hudson carried on about wedding cake. Finally they released one another from their tight embrace, and Sherlock bent down to pick up his bags and the front handle of her trunk, while she lifted from the back.

"I should probably warn you then that I'm frequently the centre of a good scandal in my line of work back in London, I've even been accused of committing the crimes I've solved once or twice." Sherlock told her, as they walked out the door and towards the carriage waiting for them. "People do little else but talk, I dare say when we get back to London and people hear we've been in Finchley they'll be asking us if we ever saw the dreaded beast."

"Well we shall have to set that right!" Molly suggested, but Sherlock just shrugged, opening a carriage door for her.

"The story has been circulating for so long now, I doubt you'll ever chase it away completely. Best to just let it pass into legend. John will probably write up some romanticised version anyway, giving it some silly title like 'The Beauty and the Beast.'"

"The Beauty and the Beast." Molly tried the title out, as she seated herself in the carriage, "I like it."

 **The End**

 _AN: There we have it ladies and gentlemen, the end of this story... Until I get the sequel started at least, that's if there's anyone out there interested in reading a sequel._

 _Sorry if the cure seemed a bit rushed, I know many of you were looking forward to it, but my scientific/medical knowledge (particularly 1860's) is a bit lacking to have gone into depths, and I didn't want to mess with history too much, lol. Oh, and another opportunity for virtual cookies here, to whoever can name the BC film I nicked the phrase 'indecorous' from._

 _So a final thanks to all of you who have joined this adventure with me, all 94 followers, 35 who favourited and all my lovely reviewers, shout outs for reviews on the last chapter go to Berrybanana05, SammyKatz, Soaring Heart the Pegasus, Guest, Justpassingthru, Autohumans and elbafo._

 _Oh, and finally, I have been reliably informed there is a beauty and the beast trailer for Sherlock on YouTube, go check it out, it is rather amusing._


	17. Sequel Preview

_AN: Hi guys, just popping in to let those who followed this story know that the sequel is now being posted! So to whet your appetites (and ensure I'm not breaking the rules about posting author notes) here is a sneaky preview of what is in store for Sherlock and Molly in their next adventure._

* * *

Sherlock appeared in the doorway, his sharp eyes rapidly taking in and assessing the scene, as John Watson hovered behind him, face set in his soldier's mask.

"Sherlock!" Irene greeted him gleefully, her face brightening again as she lowered her feet to the floor to rise, before Sherlock held out his hand in a stopping gesture.

"No need to get up, Irene." He instructed, before walking past her to stand in front of Molly, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh!" Molly realised she was in his seat, which of course he would want to sit in to face Irene. She jumped up, slipping past him heading for the sofa, where John was perched as though ready to spring into action at a second's notice, but she didn't get very far. Sherlock's hand snaked around her waist, pulling her back onto his lap as he sat, and she blushed at the intimate gesture.

She knew it wasn't out of affection however, Sherlock didn't believe in committing public displays of affection, particularly when an enemy of his might see it, and decide they could use his feelings for her against him. His doing so now in front of Irene could only serve one purpose, a message, loud and clear, that he belonged to her and she to him, and that was to be respected.

"Sweet, though an unnecessary gesture" Irene commented shrewdly, "I'm not here to seduce you, that ship sailed long ago."

Sherlock nodded curtly, though made no attempt to move Molly now his message was across.

"Then why are you here?" He asked. "I wouldn't expect an apology, from you of all people."

"Call it a peace offering. A case, I know you like those."


End file.
